


Salut D'Amour

by cerame



Series: The Ridiculous Love Life of Malachi Blackburn [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dancing, Falling In Love, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), M/M, Malachi has siblings, Music, Oblivious, Physical fatigure, The Ridiculous Love Life of Malachi Blackburn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, gosh I love these two, shadow makes some cameos, they're doing their best ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerame/pseuds/cerame
Summary: When Malachi Blackburn visits Castletown, his heart gets stolen by a short boy with hair of silken gold, eyes of perpetually shifting colors, and a smile of sunshine.Or, His heart sings a song for Link, a song of longing that has yet to be--it is not a "goodbye", and it is not a "see you later"; It is a greeting.
Relationships: Four (Linked Universe) / Malachi Blackburn, Four (Linked Universe) / Original Male Character
Series: The Ridiculous Love Life of Malachi Blackburn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814878
Comments: 46
Kudos: 107





	1. he could crush me like a grape and i'd thank him

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, this is up! Malachi Blackburn is courtesy of the LU discord, in which we basically said "give Four a boyfriend, cowards" and created a dorky, nervous noble kid, and it inspired me to write this. Just a disclaimer: I was not expecting to like Malachi this much, but I can safely say that I have never loved an OC more.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malachi is a disaster gay. Enjoy.

The grand hall of Hyrule Castle was usually an airy place with its arching ceilings and stained glass windows. When the windows were open, one could usually feel a breeze flow through the room and listen to the birds singing outside. The sunshine would filter in and cast its light through the room in such a way that made it seem ethereal, as if this were a place of rituals to the goddesses themselves.

Of course, the grand hall was no such place, especially now. On this particular day, the room was stuffy and warm with the sheer number of bodies in it, and quite frankly, if this meeting didn’t end soon, a certain boy was convinced he was going to lose his mind.

This boy was Malachi Blackburn, the youngest of the Blackburn noble family. The annual summit was a time for all the nobles across Hyrule to gather together for a report on the kingdom by the king, though his daughter Princess Zelda was finally old enough to take over the position as host. At first, Malachi was excited to finally go. He was sixteen now, so that meant he was allowed in, but now that he was here, he regretted his excitement. Most issues were minor, petty, or just passive aggressive comments toward other nobles.

“Sit up straight, Malachi,” his mother whispered. Malachi frowned but complied, taking the time to push his glasses back up his nose. His glasses slipped back down. It was far too warm in here for this.

Before the meeting, Malachi had heard some other nobles his own age whispering amongst themselves about the princess. They spoke of how beautiful she was, how graceful, how intelligent.

“Well, she _had_ to be beautiful for that wind monster to go after her so many times,” one boy said.

“Duh,” another boy scoffed. “I would try to court her myself if my family wasn’t so low in the hierarchy.”

Now that the princess was reading off the report, Malachi could see the appeal. Red hair tied back with a red bow cascaded down her back. She had a petite frame, but her arms were lean. She had an aura about her that told Malachi she wasn’t weak in any sense of the word, and her amber eyes were half-lidded as they read the report, betraying that she was just as bored out of her mind as Malachi himself was. The princess was certainly pretty, but personally, Malachi didn’t find why the other boys’ eyes were so focused on her.

In the end, he really couldn’t be blamed for zoning out throughout the meeting. He heard about the concern over the merger of the Ambrose and Ravenwood families, as their only children were marrying. The princess said something about promoting a knight’s family--Exeter, was it? Whatever they decided, the nobles were begrudgingly satisfied. There was something about making up for a shortage of grain last year, something about a sheep thief being stopped, something about the goron, zora, and gerudo tribes that were slowly moving into Hyrule. There was briefly something about Lady Pfeiffer’s affair, but it was quickly silenced because that was a matter for another place and time and not to be handled in front of every noble of Hyrule.

Relief washed over him when the meeting adjourned. He made an excuse to his parents that he needed some fresh air, then slipped out of the room. The courtyard outside was very large and very open, so he retreated to the far end and sunk back against the cool, brick wall. He breathed in deeply, relishing the fresh spring air.

He really hoped his sister would take over the family noble stuff. He doesn’t know if he could stand doing this sort of thing every year.

Then, a voice cut through the air of the courtyard, youthful and carrying a smile in its cadence.

“Zelda!”

Don’t touch me! You’re all dirty!” the princess squealed, giggling as she ducked out of the way of a short boy’s attempt to hug her. 

Malachi’s breath caught in his throat.

The boy wore a simple, off-white shirt under a thick, dark apron, both stained with soot and grease. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms that could probably crush Malachi’s hand like a grape. Hair that shone in the sunlight like golden silk was held out of his face with a headband, and a smile brighter than the sun was stretched across his face as he playfully chased the princess around, neither of them caring that there were nobles present. The boy in dirty, simple clothes was a smudge against the pristine courtyard, and he couldn’t care less. He was _perfect_.

And as Malachi’s eyes flickered over every detail he could find of this tiny boy, his cheeks warmed and his heart skipped a beat as it rose up into his throat.

“Whatcha looking at?”

Malachi yelped and spun around, coming face to face with a man clad in the armor of the castle guards. Glittering emerald eyes and a wide grin peered out at him from under the helmet.

“Oliver! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Malachi complained.

“Aww, can’t I say hi to my baby brother?” the man teased with a laugh, catching Malachi in a headlock. “I haven’t seen you since you were, like, twelve!”

Malachi yelled wordlessly as his brother rubbed his knuckles into his head, dislodging his hair from its place. No! He had worked for almost an hour trying to get his hair to lay down flat, and now it was messed up again. He wiggled and yanked himself out of his brother’s hold, his hands going up in a futile attempt to flatten his hair again. His efforts were rewarded with the rest of his hair fluffing back up.

“Oliver!” he whined. “You’re the worst!”

“Aww, I love ya too,” Oliver laughed, a grin stretched across his dumb, stupid face. Jerk. “So were you eyeing the princess or the smithy?”

“Huh?”

“You were staring at them with the biggest heart eyes I’ve ever seen,” Oliver said, wearing a shit eating grin that was far too familiar. “Come onnnnn who was it? The princess?”

“No!”

“So it was the smithy?”

“Shut up!”

“It was totally the smithy. Oh my goddesses, my wittle baby bwother has a crush on the smithy.” The asshole proceeded to laugh at his little brother’s red face. As he calmed down, though snickers were still very much present on his breath, he added, “He’s the princess’s childhood friend, ya know.”

“He’s the princess’s…?” Malachi trailed off, turning to look at the boy again. That _did_ make sense. He was allowed in the castle and then allowed to play with the princess like that. No random commoner would be allowed to do that.

Since he was turned around, Malachi didn’t notice the pensive look that came over Oliver’s face, but if he did, he would have run. That look never meant anything good for Malachi. Then, the pensive look morphed into a sly smirk. Oliver’s only warning was to tap his brother’s shoulder.

“Hey, smithy!” he called out. The boy with the golden hair stopped in his tracks and looked over at them, and _oh goddesses he was actually looking at Malachi_.

“What are you doing?!” Malachi hissed. Oliver ignored him, gesturing for the boy to come over. The boy waved to the princess, then jogged toward them.

“What’s up, Oliver?” the boy asked. Now that he was closer, Malachi could see his hazel eyes and how they seemed to shift colors in the sunlight. His heart picked up the pace, and at this point, Malachi was wondering if heart activity like this was healthy.

“I want you to meet my little brother Malachi,” Oliver said, patting Malachi on the back. “He’s, uh, taken in interest in blacksmithing.”

… What? Pardon his Zoran, but the only thought going through Malachi’s mind was _what the heck, Oliver?_

“Would you mind teaching him? You’re the best smith in Hyrule. Apart from your grandfather, of course.”

“Aww, you don’t mean that,” the boy giggled, and Malachi’s heart leapt, “but…”

That’s it. Oliver was going to be the death of him. Much to Malachi’s mortification, the boy genuinely thought about it, then smiled at him. Malachi really hoped his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind,” the boy said. He offered a hand to Malachi. “My name’s Link.”

Malachi accepted the handshake with as much grace as he could. His mind was failing to string together words. He couldn’t believe his brother really did this to him.

“Oliver’s told me a lot about you.”

“Oh no,” Malachi blurted out.

“Is it really true you fell off the second story balcony trying to get a better look at a bird?”

Malachi buried his face in his hands and bit back a mortified scream.

* * *

Malachi groaned and dropped his face to the table, letting the wooden surface dig into his cheek. He had, of course, taken the care to take off his glasses first. They laid in pristine condition a foot away from his head. A hand patted his head, failing to smooth down the fluff his family called hair.

“It’s nice to have you here in Castletown, but what’s got you so upset?” his sister asked.

“Oliver made me an apprentice to a blacksmith who happens to be the princess’s childhood friend because he thought I was staring at him,” Malachi mumbled.

“ _Were_ you staring?” she asked.

“That’s not the point!” Malachi complained, sitting up and lightly hitting the table with both hands. He did not slam the table. That would be rude and uncultured.

“If you were staring, you should’ve expected something like that from Oliver,” his sister said plainly. Malachi gave her a look, and she only smiled back pleasantly.

“How am I going to explain this to Mom and Dad?” he questioned, pushing his glasses back onto his face and setting his chin in his hand. “I’m supposed to go back home with them in a week.”

“You can stay with me for a while,” she pointed out. “Or you could say that Oliver is teaching you how to swordfight.”

“Me? Fighting?”

“I can’t see you smithing either, but I didn’t say anything about that,” she giggled. “And if all else fails, we could find you a tutor and say that you’re studying something. You’re still into animals, right?”

That… didn’t sound like such a bad idea. Malachi made a mental note to write that down sometime. He went to thank his sister, but then he saw the smirk on her face.

“So what does he look like?”

“Why are you like this?!”

* * *

Malachi had seen Link a few times since they first met, and each time, he wanted to smack himself for not being able to string together a simple sentence. Could he really be blamed? The short smithy was just so… amazing. That was the best word Malachi could use.

He adored the way Link’s ears twitched with his moods, the way his eyes shifted between colors in the sunshine, the way he smiled brighter than the light force--and his _arms_. Goddesses, his arms. Link usually wore a large, white shirt or something just as simple, so the excess fabric would cover his tiny frame, but sometimes, he’d roll his sleeves up and show the forearms that betrayed his true strength. It wasn’t just his physical appearance that Malachi had noticed, though. No, that would be shallow and meaningless.

He really didn’t care that Link sometimes talked to himself, even if others found it weird and unnerving. It was kind of cute, in Malachi’s opinion. He remembered talking aloud to himself during his studies when he was younger, but then his parents told him it was unbecoming of a noble, so he taught himself to mutter instead.

Aurelia, the dear sister that she is, convinced their parents to let Malachi stay with her on the basis that she and Oliver hadn’t been able to spend much time with him for the last few years, living in Castletown. Their parents were hesitant to leave their youngest child in the capital, but when Aurelia tacked on that Malachi needed to meet his future brother-in-law and that he might find his life calling here, they conceded.

When they parted, his mother gave him a hug that he had to struggle to breathe through. His father, on the other hand, simply looked him in the eye.

“You’re growing up,” he said, voice firmer than usual. That meant he was getting emotional and didn’t want to show it. Malachi bit the inside of his cheek. “Make me proud.”

“And don’t forget, the Hero lives around here,” his mother added. “Don’t get caught up with people like him. They attract trouble.”

“Yes ma’am,” Malachi answered. That shouldn't be an issue anyway. Probably.

Then, his father smiled and nodded at him. Together, his parents climbed into the carriage, and the driver signaled for the horses to go. Once the carriage disappeared around the bend, Aurelia lightly pushed at his back.

“Go get your man,” she said with a grin.

Malachi blushed but nodded, stepping forward as he tried to recall Link’s instructions on how to get to the forge.

“Curfew is at eight,” Aurelia called after him.

Soon, the tapping of his shoes against the cobblestones picked up speed, and by the time cobblestone turned to dirt, he was running. He could see the house and forge on the hilltop and hear the clanking of metal against metal, a steady beat on the spring air. He already felt lighter.

Before he knew it, he was in front of the door, knuckles rapping against the wood. His heart picked up the pace in anticipation. The clanking paused, then resumed, and before Malachi could knock again, the door opened. Before him stood an old man with a white beard and a green bandanna wrapped around his head. He was in full smithing gear. This must be Link’s grandfather.

“Um, hello, sir,” Malachi said. “I’m Malachi, and--”

“It’s nice to meet you, son,” the old man chuckled, his eyes crinkling up in a smile. “Link’s told me about you. He’s real excited to get started.”

“H-He is?” Malachi tried to ignore the flutter in his heart.

“Sure,” the old man said, stepping aside so Malachi could see the door he gestured to. “Link’s waiting for you in the forge.”

“Thank you sir,” Malachi said as he ducked inside.

“Just call me Smith.”

“Thank you, Smith.”

Malachi knocked on the door before going in. He was met with a wall of heat washing over him and the vision of a room lit by the fires of the forge. A small figure silhouetted by the glow of the flames struck the glowing red metal on the anvil one more time before carefully taking the tools and putting them back in the tool rack. Then, the figure turned around to face Malachi, gloved hands pulling goggles up to rest in his hair.

“Malachi!”

“Hello, Link,” Malachi answered, an unbidden smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Are you ready?” Link asked, approaching.

“As I can be, I think.”

“Great!” Link chirped. He took Malachi by the shoulders and spun him around. “First, safety.”

A few minutes later, Malachi found himself in a thick apron and gloves, his vest folded up neatly and set to the side. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he could feel his hair sticking up again. Even as awkward as he felt in these thick layers, a hopeful part of him wondered if Link’s face really was as red as the glowing coals made it out to be, but the tiny boy spun on his heel before Malachi could be sure.

“I’m in the middle of a dagger right now, but I can show you a part of the process,” Link said, heading back to the now-cooled metal.

He used the tongs to pick it up and shove it back into the fire, then used his foot to press down on a pedal rigged to the bellows, breathing life into the fire until it roared once more. Malachi came closer, and Link handed him a small hammer, holding another in his left hand.

“I’ll show you.”

Link turned back to the forge, and when the metal glowed pale yellow with heat, he drew it out and set it on the anvil. He passed the tongs to Malachi, instructing him to keep a good grip on the handles. He couldn’t hit something if he couldn’t hold it. With patient words and gentle touches, Link talked him through hammering an edge into the rough sheet of metal.

When the metal turned a dull red, Link took the tongs from Malachi and set the metal back in the furnace. Malachi sat down on the floor, pointedly not collapsing, even as his rarely-used muscles screamed at him. That was going to hurt tomorrow. Exhaustion swept through him, smothering the leftover fire in his nerves, but the proud, beaming smile Link gave him made it all worth it.

“Was that your first time smithing?” Link asked, lowering himself to join Malachi on the floor.

“Yes, it was,” Malachi nodded.

“You did good,” Link said, and Malachi couldn’t fight off the small smile that made its home on his face. “So, why did you want to learn blacksmithing?”

“Um…” Malachi trailed off, because what was he supposed to say? That his brother came up with an excuse for him to hang out with his crush? No, _no_ , that would be absolutely mortifying. “I… I don’t actually know that much about it. I was just curious. My brother just wanted to embarrass me, I think.”

“You don’t have to continue this,” Link said. He gestured loosely toward Malachi. “You’re not used to this, so I wouldn’t blame you if you decide--”

“No! I--I want to,” Malachi interrupted, his cheeks flushing from his outburst. He brought his knees up to his chest and set his chin on his knees in an attempt to hide behind his arms. “I wouldn’t mind continuing this--learning, I mean. A part of it is rather fascinating, actually. A hammer seems like such a blunt tool, but it can create something like that, and it’s not even done.” He flushed further and turned his head down, hiding his entire face, and, quieter, he added, “Besides, I already started. I can’t give up now.”

Link blinked at him and stared with colorful eyes. Then, he giggled, small and cute just like him. Malachi felt his ears warm up and fold back.

“If you say so.”


	2. Plausible Deniability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Four doesn't realize he's flirting and learns that Malachi has no idea who he is.

Malachi swung the sword at his brother. The blade missed by so far a distance, Oliver didn’t even have to side-step this one. Malachi couldn’t even fight well, but he knew that swing was horribly off-balance, and it made frustration coil up and growl in his chest. Oliver didn’t even try to tag him out of this round. Disappointment rolling over him, Malachi lowered the sword until the metal tip tapped against the stone ground below. His muscles ached, but it was a familiar ache at this point.

They figured, if they had to pretend that Malachi was here to learn swordsmanship, he’d have to have something to show when their parents inevitably visited. As such, Malachi had spent his mornings learning swordplay from his brother and his afternoons learning blacksmithing from Link. Link told him to take a few days off from the smithing, though, and even though Malachi knew that his friend--and that was who Link was now, his _friend_ \--wanted to make sure he wasn’t pushing himself, it still hurt a little. It would only be a few days, though. Malachi could handle a few days.

“I don’t think beating me into the ground is going to make me any better at fighting,” Malachi grumbled.

“It’s called practice,” Oliver said, rolling his eyes. “Look, take a break, go explore town, get a snack, make some friends, I don’t care. Just be back in an hour. I want to try something different.”

“What is it?” Malachi asked, narrowing his eyes. He knew his brother. “What are you planning?”

“You’ll see,” Oliver said with a smirk and a wink. He took the dulled sword from Malachi’s hand and nudged him toward the exit from the training yard.

Despite his suspicion, Malachi left. Link had mentioned something about a Pita and Wheaton’s the other day, claiming it was the best bakery in Hyrule. They were probably worth a visit. With that thought in mind, he wove his way through the castle. He knew the paths from the training yards to various exits, but apart from that, he still got lost way too easily. The castle was a big place. When he emerged into the southern courtyard, Malachi let out a sigh of relief. He had to get a basic map of the castle someday. Why _did_ the castle have training yards inside its walls?

It wasn’t hard to find the bakery. The couple who ran the shop were nice, readily greeting Malachi even as a figure in red left through the door on the far side of the shop. The bakers were making a new batch of everything, so by the time Malachi had forked over the rupees for a fresh croissant, he had to head back. He thanked the bakers and bid them farewell. As he stepped out of their shop, he bit into the warm, buttery, flaky crust only for his teeth meet something hard. Blinking in surprise, Malachi pulled the offending object from his teeth and stared at it for a moment. The jagged, red semicircle--a kinstone--gleamed with butter.

How odd… He pocketed the kinstone and headed back to the castle.

When he entered the training yard, it was empty. Malachi took a training sword from the rack and went to the center of the yard. He might as well practice at his own pace if Oliver wasn’t here to bully teach him. Slowly, he drew an arc in the air, following what his brother had shown him., but the steel never felt quite right to Malachi. Even the swing of the hammer felt better than this, but that might be because Link sometimes held his hand to show him how to properly do something.

Fighting the warmth that threatened to creep across his cheeks, he went through another swing and transitioned into a different swing, like how Oliver had shown him. He huffed through his nose, frustrated heat boiling in his chest. He didn’t know what, but something felt _wrong_ whenever he tried to use the sword.

“Malachi?”

He startled, dropping the sword. He winced, ears folding back, even before the blade clattered loudly against the ground. The noise echoed in his ears long after the sound had stopped, persisting as a high-pitched ringing that faded into the back of his mind.

“Link?” he squeaked.

And yes, there in the doorway stood Link. He wasn’t wearing his usual clothes. Instead of the off-white shirt forever stained with soot and quenching oils, he was clad in a sleeveless, hooded tunic, split in the center into four differently-colored quarters, each embroidered with symbols in gold thread. The clean, white sleeves of the shirt underneath the tunic poofed, then cinched under the stiff black cloth clasped around his forearms. His woolen pants were replaced by form-fitting leggings, and a sword and shield rested on his back. It was a little silly, but it was… kind of… heroic, in a way. It certainly looked as if there were a story behind the outfit.

Malachi made a futile attempt to fight the blush crawling up his face.

Behind him stood Oliver, who flashed Malachi a thumbs up before disappearing. Jerk.

“I didn’t know you were learning swordplay, too,” Link said awkwardly, stepping forward to approach him.

“I, um, I didn’t know you could fight,” Malachi said. Was Link really good at _everything_? Good goddesses… Link’s eyes widened, and Malachi scrambled to fix it. “I-I mean, I’m assuming you can, because you have that sword on your back, and it would make sense for a smith to know how to use what they make because how else will they know it’s good, right? I--”

“It’s ok,” Link interrupted with a reassuring smile. “You’re right. I do know how to fight.” Link drew his sword and shield but kept his posture lax. “Oliver asked me to help teach you.”

Oh no. He couldn’t allow _this_.

“You already teach me how to blacksmith,” Malachi argued. “My brother is a guard. He shouldn’t be shoving this onto you.”

“I don’t mind,” Link assured him with a smirk that made Malachi's heart leap in his chest. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to get rusty.”

He hefted his blade up and changed his stance. Malachi put himself into a defensive stance only to fidget when Link frowned. Link put his sword and shield back in their places on his back, but when Malachi went to put his sword down, Link spoke up.

“No, no, stay there,” he said, circling around the taller boy. “Here, you’re doing this wrong.”

Small hands pushed his arms into position, and by Link’s instructions, he shifted his feet. Then, Link pushed his shoulder forward, and it felt like something slotted into place. It felt balanced and natural, for once.

“Much better,” Link declared, smiling proudly. “Try a diagonal slash now.”

As they ran through the various basic attacks, Link correcting what he was doing wrong and offering practical advice, the sun moved through the sky, and before they knew it, it was getting late.

“We should get going,” Link said. Even with multiple layers, he hadn’t broken a sweat. Malachi wasn’t surprised, though. He worked in a forge all day.

“Ok,” Malachi said.

Link waved him goodbye and turned to leave. Malachi bit the inside of his cheek, then gathered every inch of courage in his body.

“Wait!”

Link stopped in the doorway and turned back to look at him.

“Would you--I mean--Do you want to walk together?” he asked. “Through Castletown? We’ll be going the same way for a little bit anyway, so… I thought it couldn’t hurt.”

Link blinked, then smiled softly. “Ok.”

He waited in the doorway until Malachi had put everything away and joined him. Then, together, they set off. They chatted as they walked. Link told him that Smith was thinking of ordering some jewels and restarting jewelry-making, which Link had never actually learned, and in return, Malachi told him about his arrangement with his parents.

“But they told me to stay away from the hero,” Malachi said. “They don’t like the hero very much. They blame him for releasing Vaati, but I don’t think it’s much of an issue, since I haven’t run into him. Or, at least, I don’t think I have.”

“Plausible deniability.”

Malachi turned to look at Link and was surprised to see a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Link?” Malachi asked. “Are you ok?”

Wait. Link was the princess’s childhood friend. Rumors say that the hero was the princess’s childhood friend, and if Link was upset about Malachi’s parents not liking the hero, that could only mean--

“Are you friends with the hero?” he asked.

“Uh,” Link said intelligently. He blinked hard, then shook his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I know him.”

“Oh,” Malachi said. “I apologize. I should have been more careful with my words.”

“It’s not your fault,” Link said, shaking his head. “Really. It’s not like _you’re_ the one dis--”

He cut himself off, eyes darting toward movement Malachi hadn’t noticed earlier. In the path, just a few yards before them, a deku scrub was inhaling. In a single, smooth movement, Link took the shield from his back, stepped in front of Malachi, and planted his feet in the ground, stance wide and steady.

The deku seed rocketed toward them and ricocheted off the shield back at the deku scrub, who slumped in place, dazed. Link, on the other hand, hadn’t budged from the attack and casually put his shield away. Malachi gaped, not quite sure what to do.

“Sorry, kid,” the scrub groaned as Link approached. “I try to talk, but I just keep spittin’ out seeds! Say, I’m sellin’ some bombs for eighty rupees. Want any?”

Ok, now the merchant who had attacked them was trying to sell them bombs?! What kind of business ethics did deku scrubs have? Maybe Malachi should put in a request to find a way to do business with deku scrubs without getting hit by seeds. That couldn’t be good for business, attacking your potential customers. Actually, people getting attacked by vendors in general was a concern all on its own.

“No, thank you,” Link said politely. “It’s getting late, though, and guards don’t like it when people hang out on the path to the castle while it’s dark. You should get going.”

The deku scrub made a strangled noise of anxiety and fear, then popped back into the earth, disappearing to wherever the underground-travelling people went.

“Is that normal?” Malachi asked. “Attacking people and then trying to sell bombs?”

“Sometimes they sell arrows,” Link said as if this was an everyday occurrence. Why were things so _weird_ in central Hyrule? “One sold me a bottle, once.”

Malachi rubbed the bridge of his nose. Buying bombs, arrows, and a bottle(?) from deku scrubs, as hard as they were to find even when you did want to do business with them, was something only people without fear did.

Well, this was certainly one way to find out your crush was just a tad bit feral.

And, much to his surprise, he found that he really didn’t mind the chaos. Not at all. With Link looking at him with those wide, colorful, hazel eyes, well… Malachi couldn’t deny he was soft for him.

“Oh, by the way, I’m making you take another day off,” Link said, breaking Malachi from his thoughts of eyes and scrubs. “You can’t push yourself.”

Malachi huffed but didn’t argue. Link was stubborn. If he said no lessons, then there would be no lessons, so he conceded. No lessons. The spark in Link’s eyes that spoke of a proud success made it all worth it, though.

* * *

Malachi wasn’t sure of what to do with his freetime, but with swords on his mind and restlessness in his bones, he wanted to go over and insist to Link that he was fine to continue smithing. He wasn’t a big fan of hammering the rough shape of the metal. He preferred the more intricate bits, the stuff that the small hammers and the files could create. He’d heard of the metalwork of zora and gerudo jewelry from the news that arrived in Castletown from the borders, and he wondered if they’d be willing to share their crafts. Link and Smith would probably be interested--

“Malachi!”

He stopped in his tracks and turned around. At the end of the hallway was Aurelia, and her arm was hooked around the arm of a man. She beckoned him over.

“Phillip, this is my little brother, Malachi,” she said, a smile lighting up her features. “Malachi, this is the fiance I’ve told you about, Phillip Chamberlain.”

Phillip was a little taller than normal, which meant that he was more than half a head taller than Aurelia and a whole head taller than Malachi. An image of Link, as short as he was, came to mind, and Malachi fought back the smile that came with the thought. Chocolate brown waves framed a tan face, and warm, amber eyes shone with a mix of confidence and kindness.

“Hello,” Malachi said, completely unsure of what he was supposed to say to his future brother-in-law.

“It’s really a pleasure to meet you, Malachi,” Phillip said, a smile gracing his features. “I’ve heard a bit about you… Did you really fall off the second floor bal--”

“Why do you tell that story to everyone you meet?” Malachi groaned, glaring at his sister.

“Because you’re my baby brother, and it’s my duty as your sister to embarrass you,” Aurelia said with an easy smirk. Phillip snorted in an attempt to suppress his laughter. “Join us for dinner, won’t you? Oliver already agreed to join us.”

“I’ll admit, I’m a little nervous to be meeting all my siblings-in-law at once,” Phillip said with a small smile. “Right after I got back from negotiations at the borders, too.”

“You worked at the borders?” Malachi asked, his interest peaking. “With the other races?”

“Yes,” Phillip nodded. “It is… tough work, but I think Hyrule will prosper with their skills and crafts. Everyone knows of the Gorons’ mining expertise, but they haven’t heard of the combat skills of the Gerudo or the Zoras' skills that come with living underwater.”

“You’re both nerds,” Aurelia giggled. Phillip looked away, his cheeks growing red and a smile tugging at his mouth. Malachi, on the other hand, frowned at his sister and rolled his eyes. She tugged at Phillip’s arm. “Come on, Phillip. There’s so much I want to show you, and you haven’t said hello to Oliver yet. You two can talk more about the other races later.”

“Ok, ok! I’m coming, my love,” Phillip laughed, allowing her to drag him away. He looked back to Malachi as Aurelia dragged him away. “I’d love to talk about the negotiations with you anytime!”

Malachi waved goodbye, watching them disappear. His sister was such a weirdo. Just as he turned back around to retreat to his room, however, Aurelia popped her head back into view.

“Oh, and, by the way,” she said, “Mom and Dad are visiting soon.”

Oh. Oh dear.

* * *

Malachi was beginning to like the physical exertion of the hammers and files. With every clink of Link’s hammer against the glowing, hot metal, Malachi scraped a smaller piece of metal against the rounded file three times. It was a comfortable rhythm, and he found himself humming a tune to it. The meter wasn’t quite right, but four-four was close enough to two-four when you didn’t care much for the specifics. His heel tapped along to the beat twice as fast, subdividing and counting the eighth notes.

Then, the hammer stopped, interrupting the song, and Link set the metal bar back in the furnace as Malachi’s humming and tapping came to a stop.

“Do you like music?” Link asked. Malachi paused his work with the file to look over at Link, meeting his inquisitive gaze.

“A bit,” Malachi admitted, breaking eye contact and scraping the metal against the file again. He was almost done with this side of the crossguard. “My parents had me learn violin, growing up. It’s not exactly a passion of any sort, but I like it well enough as a hobby.”

“That’s cool,” Link said, leaning back against the wall behind him. If anyone else said that, it might have come off as flippant or uncaring, but Link never said anything he didn’t mean. He didn’t offer fake compliments. “I learned a bit of the ocarina when I was younger, but I could only really play one tune on it.”

Malachi snorted and failed to suppress a giggle. He missed the fond smile on Link’s face because the mention of his parents brought up something he had forgotten to mention.

“Oh, um,” he said, “my parents are visiting Castletown soon, and I don’t think they’ll approve of me learning smithing, so… so I’ll only be able to come here for the next two days. I don’t know how long they’re staying.”

“That’s ok,” Link said. He thought for a moment, then walked over to Malachi and gently took the half-finished crossguard from his hands.

He set it on a nearby tabletop, then walked over to a rack that held some swords from the castle. They were the ones sent here to be dulled for training. Link took two and held one out to Malachi.

“Let’s spar a little.”

Malachi couldn’t say no to Link, so instead, he said, “Ok.”

A few hours later, as the sun grew close to the horizon and painted the western skies in a yellowish-green, preparing for the pinks and reds of sunset, Link watched Malachi set off north, toward his sister’s home. He wanted to smile, but instead, his brow drew into a frown.

As voices argued in his mind, free winds and green life swirled in his eyes. He turned his head to look down at the shadow to his left. The outline flickered in acknowledgement.

“I’m worried about him,” he said. The shadow nodded back in response, breaking away from mirroring its light. It brought its hands up above its head and signed out a response. Link frowned. “We know, but… there has to be a way to make sure the lesson doesn’t hurt him too badly.”

The shadow answered with no small amount of snark, then moved back to mirror Link. The boy only rolled his eyes and headed back inside.


	3. If it's important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If it’s a part of your life you enjoy, then it’s an important part, because it’s you, and even if you don’t see it that way, it’s true to me."

A week after receiving the news that Lord and Lady Blackburn would be visiting, Malachi found himself fidgeting in the parlor of his sister’s home. The armchair he sat in was not uncomfortable by any means, but anxiety coiled and hissed in his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to eat any of the snacks Aurelia had left on the coffee table for them. Oliver, on the other hand, had no such troubles, lounged across a loveseat while nibbling on a cracker.

“Relax, Chi,” Oliver groaned, shattering the relative silence. “I can feel your anxiety from over here.” He crunched into the cracker as if in emphasis.

“What if they ask me to come back home with them?” Malachi argued. “Or--Or what if they want me to be a squire? I want to stay here, but I don’t want to fight.”

“Look, we’ll come up with something,” Oliver said. “Like, uh… studying. Or--”

“Malachi, Oliver!”

Great timing, Malachi thought with no small amount of sarcasm. Still, he got up to greet his parents with a smile and a hug. His father ruffled his hair and laughed at Malachi’s protests. He tried to smooth it back down only for his mother to interrupt with her own bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, my baby boy,” she sighed, pulling back. “Look at you! You’ve gotten some muscle since we last saw you.”

Oliver made a comment about being chopped liver, as their mother hadn’t greeted him yet. Their father lightly smacked the back of his head.

“That was only a couple months ago, too,” his father added.

“Sword fighting is hard,” Malachi offered with a sheepish smile. He wasn’t _wrong_. It _was_ difficult, but it didn’t demand as much constant exercise as smithing.

“Now… Oliver!” his mother declared. “Get over here.”

She dragged her eldest child into a hug, freeing Malachi. He really did love his parents, but this was going to be a long… week? Month? However long they intended to stay.

Dinner that evening was… weird. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t awkward or tense, either. Phillip was delighted to meet his parents-in-law, but Malachi could see his leg bouncing under the table. He was nervous, and so was everyone else, and that made Malachi even more nervous. Ah, a classic negative feedback loop.

“So, Malachi,” his father said as topics looped back through whatever conversation was going on (Malachi was too nervous to really track what was going on), “have you figured out what you want to do?”

“Um… I…” he glanced at his siblings, who only looked back with a mixture of expectation, hope, and apologeticness. What _did_ he like? He liked Link. “I’m thinking of… metalwork.”

Oliver facepalmed. Malachi wished the earth would swallow him whole.

“I mean, as in jewelry and stuff,” Malachi amended, digging himself deeper into the hole. “I’ve been… I’ve been talking with a fr--a smith, and I think it might be interesting. Jewels. And stuff.”

“It’s a respectable job,” his father said slowly, mulling the idea over. "Honest work, at least."

“Are you sure?” his mother asked, a concerned frown pinching her brow. “You’ve never shown interest in metalwork before.”

“I don’t know too much about it yet, but it sounds interesting,” Malachi admitted, because technically, it wasn’t a lie. Smith was working on molds and expected to restart jewelry and teach Link sometime in midsummer. It just hadn’t happened yet.

“If you really are interested in it, then I support you,” his mother said. After a pause, there was a thump under the table. His father winced, and his mother added, “And so does your father.”

Malachi began to wonder if he really should have told them the truth about why he was staying here but quickly dashed the thought. Staying for a boy? That would be seen as silly and foolish. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

“Whether or not you found something, we were going to let you stay here if you wanted to,” his father said. This earned the man three, wide-eyed stares of various shades of green. “Your mother and I talked about it earlier today.”

The siblings looked at each other, exchanging shocked looks of confusion. Phillip, on the other hand, looked confused but went along with whatever Aurelia was ok with.

“You just seem so much more… _alive_ here,” his mother sighed, resting her cheek in her hand dramatically. “The house is so quiet with no children around, but I _suppose_ I can suffer a little more if you’re happy here.” She paused, then added, “If, of course, Aurelia and Lord Chamberlain are fine with it.”

Aurelia looked to Phillip, who shrugged in return.

“We wouldn’t mind,” Aurelia said.

Malachi couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face.

* * *

Being unable to see Link (and oh, how he ached to see those rivetingly colorful eyes and silken hair of gold and that smile of sunshine, to hear the tinking of hammers and the scraping of metal against files, to be embraced in the heat of the forge and the weight of the protective gear, to simply _be_ with Link), Malachi resorted to going through his sister’s library. Being of a noble family and being engaged to another noble, Aurelia owned a large mansion, and in this mansion was a library with arched ceilings and shelves upon shelves of books. Appearances were everything, of course, so there were books on most every subject one could think of.

Malachi took advantage of this while his parents were here. Without Link’s smithing and sword fighting sessions, Malachi was left with quite a bit of freetime, so instead, he read. A book on silversmithing, a book on geology, on jewels, on appraisal, on jewel settings… and, as he made his way to a table, he stopped by a shelf that caught his eye.

Link had mentioned believing in the picori before, and here was a whole shelf on the legends and history of the tiny race. Malachi looked over the shelf thoughtfully for a moment, then picked a thinner book and added it to the pile.

Malachi found himself buried in the pages of delicate silver curls and shining gemstones. A few months ago, he might have instead chosen books on ecosystems or encyclopedias on fauna, but after meeting Link and being taught a craft, he couldn’t find it in himself to observe from afar. Yes, he still loved animals, but studying them wasn’t the same as smithing, as creating something that someone would use. He was learning an _art_. He could put himself into it, and even though he began with complaints about sore muscles day after day, he had come to enjoy it. He understood why Link had such passion for it. He had watched Link turn a few bars of metal into a sword, into a horseshoe, into a door hinge, and each and every one of his creations were bought and used.

He didn’t know if his newfound appreciation of smithing came from crushing on Link like the hopeless child he was or if he genuinely would have liked it even without Link, but either way, it existed, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

He fell asleep at some point, and when he woke up, he was in his room, and it was already noon.

Oops.

Despite his protesting, stiff, sore muscles, he got up and proceeded to cringe at his wrinkled clothes from the day before. After choosing a new outfit, he felt somewhat refreshed, and this time, as he looked around the room, he noticed a black case on his desk with a scrap of parchment on top. Curious despite already knowing what it was, he went over.

“You left this at home, so we brought it here in case you wanted to practice. Love, Mom,” the note read.

Malachi smiled. He set the note to the side and unzipped the case with practiced ease, the lock easily clicking open as he flipped open the clasps on either side. Polished but weathered wood and horsehair coated with white dust greeted him. He hummed an A to himself as he untied the instrument from its spot in the case. He held the wide end against his side as he plucked the second string with one hand and turned the appropriate peg with the other. Once he was satisfied and the string matched his pitch, he dropped a fifth and moved to the third string. He repeated this process with the fourth string and jumped up to a high E for the first, then cycled through the strings once more, in order, fourth to first. G, D, A, E.

Tuning was a tedious but calming process, in Malachi’s humble opinion.

He pushed the shoulder rest into place, then swung the instrument up on his shoulder, his ears twitching as he tried to remember what note started the song that played in his head every time he saw Link. A name of another language, a composer with an alliterative name, dipping and rising phrases that sang of a longing that has yet to be and the tentative offer of something new, something bold and beautiful and warm.

Ah, that’s right. A high G-sharp. Muscle memory took him to third position, his hand shifting down the neck, closer to the body of the instrument. He couldn’t remember for the life of him the fingerings he had decided on for this, but he didn’t really need to. This was the first song he learned of his own volition, so it was ingrained in his fingers, and even though his cheeks warmed at the admission, his heart joyously sang this melody at every thought of Link. Link’s greetings were warm, and even though his hugging days and no-touching days seemed random, Malachi was happy for every scrap of attention Link would give him, even as pathetic as that sounded.

Oh, he couldn’t wait to see him again.

* * *

When Malachi’s parents finally left Castletown, Malachi hadn’t seen Link in a week and a half. Oliver had kept him busy with sword work in the castle training yard, but for some reason, he hadn’t brought in Link again, much to Malachi’s disappointment. His brother did admit that Link did a good job teaching him, though, since he could last more than fifteen seconds in a fight with Oliver now. When Malachi asked why Oliver was making him learn even though their parents knew he didn’t want to be a knight, Oliver shrugged and said it was something to keep them both busy. In his freetime, Malachi did more research into both general smithing and jewelry-making, and as his interest grew, he found that he couldn’t wait for Smith to get the supplies they needed.

And now that his parents were gone, he could go see Link again! Malachi had worked to smooth down his hair, but even so, when he saw the forge on the hilltop, he couldn’t stop the grin that made its home on his face or the quickening pace of his footsteps as he transitioned from a walk to a run, the wind undoubtedly undoing any sort of progress he had made with his hair.

He knocked on the door, then entered.

“It’s me, Malachi!” he called out.

A beat, then the door to the living room opened up, and out came Smith. His face lit up in a fond smile at the sight of Malachi, but if Smith was greeting him and the forge was quiet, that had to mean…

“Malachi! It’s good to see you again, son,” Smith greeted. “Link is out delivering right now.”

“Oh,” Malachi said, his conclusion confirmed.

“You don’t have to look so disappointed!” Smith laughed. He put an arm around Malachi’s shoulders and herded him toward the living room.

“I-I’m not!” Malachi protested, though he let Smith lead him away. “Really! I was…” He trailed off, his voice growing quieter as his cheeks flushed and his ears folded down. “I was just excited to see Link again.”

“I know. I was just messing with you,” Smith chuckled, shaking his head. He gestured to the couches around the fireplace. A metal pot steamed over the crackling fire. “Take a seat. I have a kettle on. Would you like some tea?”

“I… I would appreciate that, yes,” Malachi answered, lowering himself into the worn but still plush cushions of one of the armchairs. His back was toward the door, but he didn’t want to sit on the long couch by himself, and he was pretty sure the other armchair was usually Smith’s.

A few minutes later, Smith handed a cup of tea to Malachi, heavy with honey. Malachi blew on the surface as Smith took his seat in the other armchair.

“I… um… Smith, sir?” Malachi spoke up, and immediately, his nerves began to coil in his stomach. “You said you were planning on jewelry-making soon, right?”

“That’s right,” Smith nodded. “Are you interested?”

“Yes,” Malachi nodded. This was the second most sure he had ever been in his life (the privilege of most sure went to his conviction of his horribly big, distracting crush on Link). “I am. While my parents were here, I did some research into it, and I’d really like to try.”

Smith hummed, then raised his cup to his mouth. The crackle of the fire filled the silence as best it could, but it still left too much empty space. Malachi fidgeted uncomfortably and slowly sipped at his tea. Peppermint. Being around Smith and Link felt like home sometimes. They were warm and welcoming, and Malachi felt safe in their home, but now? Now, he could feel the calculating gaze of Smith on him, and his nerves sparked in anticipation.

“I was under the impression that you were learning smithing to spend time with my grandson.”

Malachi choked on his tea. He set the cup on the coffee table and bent over to hack the stray liquid from his throat.

“I-I--what?!” he rasped between coughs. “H-How did you--”

“You’re too obvious. It’s good to see young love, though,” Smith laughed, eyes filling with mirth. Malachi spluttered, his cheeks turning red. “But if you’re actually interested, I wouldn’t mind teaching you the art of jewelry making.”

“Thank you,” Malachi squeaked, still trying to calm himself. He tried to sink further down into the cushion.

“Pops, I’m back!”

And as that voice he so adored rolled over him, Malachi’s heart sped up, a feeling that was now familiar and comforting because it meant Link was here. Smith called for Link, and when Malachi twisted around and leaned over the armrest to look, his breath caught in his throat all over again, just like the first time he saw him.

Link stood in the doorway, and he was just as he remembered, down to the tear in his sleeve that he had yet to sew up and the permanent scuff on the toe of his left boot. Even still, Malachi drank in every detail his eyes could find.

“Hi, Link,” Malachi said, despite his suddenly dry mouth.

Link’s hazel eyes flickered between colors before a wide grin broke out across the little smithy’s face. He ran into the living room and practically threw himself over the armrest to wrap his arms around Malachi in a hug strong enough to knock the air from his lungs (or maybe it was just Link being his wonderful self that did it). Warmth flowed through him from his chest to the tips of his fingers and the crown of his head in a way hot tea could never accomplish. His heart picked up the pace, racing against his ribcage as a steady repetition of “ _I love you, I love you, I love you_ ” looped in his mind, and as he returned the hug, he realized that, for once, he could care less if Link felt it.

His fingertips tingled and his heart fluttered with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t happiness, and it wasn’t love, not quite. It was something in-between, and its warmth pervaded every inch of his being.

He was so far gone for Link.

The hug ended far too soon, but it meant that Malachi could see the bright, beaming smile on Link’s face, so he supposed he was ok with this.

“Malachi!” Link gushed. “Your parents left? How were they? How have you been? Did you do anything cool while you were away?”

Malachi didn’t fight the giggle that bubbled up from his chest. It was rare to see Link so excited over anything. He was babbling, tripping over his sentences, and his hands flew around him in an attempt to gesture as he spoke. It wasn’t working very well, but he was doing his best.

He was cute.

Smith got up to work in the forge, leaving Link and Malachi in the living room. As the boys talked, they somehow ended up sitting on the rug before the fireplace, cups of tea cold and forgotten on the coffee table beside them.

Malachi humored Link and talked about Phillip and his work, his parents, and the kinds of shenanigans Oliver tried to pull to sneak away from family dinners. The lattermost topic drew snorts and giggles from Link that had Malachi melting. The smile Link gave him as he talked about what the books said about smithing and jewelry making was cute, too, but much to Malachi’s surprise, Link latched onto another topic entirely.

“You play violin?” he asked, tilting his head.

“I do,” Malachi nodded. “Since I was little. Mom wanted us to know music. Oliver plays piano, and Aurelia is good at singing.” He smiled sheepishly as a memory came to mind. “I remember, when I was little, I wanted to sing, too, since Aurelia’s voice was so beautiful.”

“Wait, why didn’t you want to learn piano?”

“Oh,” Malachi said, frowning lightly, “that would be because Oliver sucked at it.”

Link snorted in a mixture of surprise and amusement, choking on his own spit. He wheezed out giggles between coughs, and Malachi couldn’t help but snicker at Link’s antics.

“Anyway,” Malachi continued, the whisper of a giggle lingering on his breath. “We quickly realized I couldn’t go into singing because I was too shy and couldn’t perform with my voice in front of anyone, not even a tutor. I was frustrated with it, naturally, but Aurelia came up with an alternative since I didn’t want to learn piano like Oliver. She always liked the violin, so she suggested I try it… and here I am now, I suppose.”

“Do you like it?”

Now, that was a question Malachi hadn’t expected. At most noble functions, people learned he could play, then asked if he had ever played at a gala or ball or something. He said no and that he did not perform often, and the nobles would back off and switch topics to things like lines of succession or the economy or squirehood or something just as boring. No one had ever asked him if he liked it, but really, he should have expected Link to come up with something so thoughtful.

“I think… I do, yes,” Malachi said, his tone growing firmer as he spoke. “I do. It’s… I couldn’t ever really express what I felt or thought, especially to people I didn’t know, so music was one way I could do that.”

“So… It’s like how smithing is to me,” Link concluded, eyes turned to stare into the fireplace. Those wonderful, beautiful eyes of his. “It’s an art, something you can express yourself with and lose yourself in.”

“I don’t think it’s as important to me as smithing is to you,” Malachi admitted. “It’s just a hobby, really, but smithing… smithing is your life, isn’t it? I can’t say the same for music.”

“It’s still an art,” Link said, his brow twitching into a serious expression, a light frown.

“I know,” Malachi said with a sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to imply it was any less an art. Just that it’s not an important part of my life.”

“I think…” Link trailed off with a tone Malachi had learned meant he was mulling over his words carefully in some attempt to put together something shockingly wise for their age. “If it’s a part of your life you enjoy, then it’s an important part, because it’s you, and even if you don’t see it that way, it’s true to me.”

Malachi ducked his head as heat spread across his cheeks and burned his ears, any and all words ripped from his mind and shredded to pieces. How was he even supposed to react to something as sweet as that? Link seemed to have realized what he said, for he coughed, clearing his throat.

“Because you’re my friend,” Link added anyway, soldiering on. How brave. Malachi, personally, would have perished already if he had said that to Link. “Aaaaaaaaaaand since you’re my friend, it’s a crime to not know your birthday!”

The last bit was strained, but Malachi let him hop topics. If he didn’t want to talk more about something, Malachi wouldn’t make him. Besides, if they had continued down that path of conversation, he wasn’t sure his fragile little heart could take it.

“My birthday?” Malachi asked instead. His voice cracked, and he did his best to ignore it.

“Well, yes,” Link answered quickly, latching onto the acceptance of the topic change. “Friends have to know each other’s birthdays so we can celebrate it together. Mine is just before the winter solstice.”

The winter solstice, huh? That was a ways off, since it was still the first half of summer. Speaking of which…

“My birthday is just before the summer solstice,” Malachi said. “Looks like we match, kind of--”

“It’s that soon?!” Link exclaimed, suddenly jumping to his feet. Malachi stared up at him, wide-eyed, and wasn’t that a twist? Malachi couldn’t say he had ever had to look up at Link before. “I need to get you a present…”

“You don’t _need_ to--”

“Yes I do!” Link argued, concern flashing through his eyes like crashing waves, crumbling rocks, howling winds, flames struggling against the breeze. “I’m not just gonna let you have your birthday and not do something about it!”

So passionate. Malachi could go on for days about what he loved about Link. He could try to argue, but really, he knew he wouldn’t win.

Instead, he said, “Ok. Then I wait with anticipation.”

* * *

Zelda Dottram Hyrule was a woman prone to neither worry nor bullshit. This did not mean she lacked a sixth sense for both. On the contrary, she considered herself a skilled detector of worry and bullshit, especially the latter. She could almost always feel the tingle of bullshit on the air due to her dear friend Link, but these past few days, the feeling of “Link is being dumb” was unnervingly strong, dancing on the tips of her fingers and waltzing across her nerves.

It is for this reason that she, even with the Midsummer Gala fast approaching, snuck out of the castle to visit the forge south of Castletown.

No beat of hammers on metal met her ears, and no column of smoke rose up toward the sky. Zelda took this as an invitation and let herself in. Of course, she was a woman with decorum and manners. She would never enter a personal residence unannounced, for the residents of any building deserved to know when the princess of Hyrule was coming for their kneecaps.

“Link!” she barked. Her ears twitched at the faint yelp and thump from upstairs. Ah, her target had been located. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” came the muffled reply as Zelda lifted her skirts and climbed the upstairs as quickly as she could. She could hear him moving things up there. Naturally, her bullshit detector went off.

“Link,” she said, her voice dipping and dragging out his name in a threat. “I expect honesty from you!”

She kicked open the door to Link’s room. The door was already cracked open, so it didn’t break anything. She wouldn’t want to actually do property damage, but kicking the door open was perfectly dramatic and she couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

What was just as dramatic was the sight that met her inside. Link stood in the center of his room, crouched over to pick up papers that had scattered across the floor. He froze in place, then yelped as he lost his balance and fell over. His arms caught him as he hit the floor, but that resulted in him dropping the papers he had previously picked up. His usual headband was missing, letting his hair get tangled and messy (or as much as it could with hair as straight as his). He was only in his leggings and a plain white shirt, and if she squinted, Zelda could see the beginnings of designer bags forming under his eyes.

“That’s the problem!” Link groaned, accepting his position on the floor and squishing his cheek against a paper that had landed under him. Zelda thought his face looked like a distressed chuchu. “I have _nothing_.”

Zelda frowned, her mind running through the possibilities of what the heck her friend was spouting. She looked down at a paper that had landed close to her and squinted in an attempt to read the chicken scratch that was Link’s handwriting.

“A cro--proton--profoct--oh, _protection_ \--a protection ring?” she asked. “You really need to get some neater handwriting.”

“I don’t know how to do jewelry,” Link groaned into the floor. He wasn’t even going to try to stand up, was he? Well, it’s not like it changed their height difference much anyway.

“What are you even doing?” Zelda questioned, folding her arms. “I could feel your anxiety from the castle.”

“Malachi’s birthday is coming up and I have nothing,” Link muttered. Zelda made a mental note that if she ever wanted to know what paper and wood tasted like, she could ask Link.

“Malachi… oh, you mean the Blackburn boy,” Zelda said, her eyes widening as all the puzzle pieces suddenly clicked together. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him, right? So you just want to make him a present?”

These were, of course, all rhetorical questions. Link had rambled on to her enough about the boy and how Link liked his hair fluffy rather than smoothed down and how he had such dedication to learn and how he was cute when he stuttered but Link really wished he could learn some confidence and self-care routines--basically, both of them knew she was asking for the sake of digging Link’s grave for him.

“Why not just make him a weapon or something?” she asked.

“I tried!” Link argued.

He dragged himself across the floor without standing up so he could grab a paper and throw it at her. However, as flat paper was not exactly aerodynamic, it managed to travel a whole two feet from Link’s hand. Impressive, for paper. Zelda walked the rest of the way to pick it up, and as soon as she realized what it was, she rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t mean a whole, jewel-encrusted sword.”

“What? Do you want me to give him half a sword? Which half? The blade or the hilt?”

“No, you idiot,” Zelda huffed, crouching down to smack the back of his head. He groaned into the floor. “I mean, he’s a noble. You have to think like one. And what I _meant_ is that it never hurts to have weapons disguised as everyday items.”

“Like a sword cane?” Link asked, lifting his head. Ah, there was that spark of inspiration he needed. Zelda’s bullshit detector quieted just a bit. “Or a knife pen!”

“Exactly,” she nodded, standing back upland straightening her skirts. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my father has probably figured out I’ve snuck out by now, so I should head back. The Midsummer Gala won’t prepare itself, after all.”

“Thanks Zelda,” Link said, finally moving to pick himself up off the floor. She had no doubt his thoughts were tripping over each other in their excited attempts to gather a single, coherent thought.

“I fully expect you to be there at the Gala, by the way,” she added. “Duties of a hero and all.”

Link let out a loud, long groan of dismay as he let himself fall back to the floor, limbs splayed out haphazardly. She giggled and took her leave, and it was only when she got to the door that she realized she had forgotten to say something.

“Oh, and Link!” she called out.

“What?!”

“Good luck with your boyfriend!”

The mortified scream that rang through the house was music to her ears.

* * *

Link finally had the blueprints drafted up, and this project was looking promising, if he did say so himself. A sturdy but sleek pen, with an entirely new mechanism for putting ink onto a page. Instead of a stick version of a quill, in the small, metal tip, there would be a ball that rolled in place to gather the ink from the small well inside the pen. As for the knife part, Link went with less of a “knife” due to figuring out the internal ink well and decided to go with a tapered end on the not-writing side, tipped with steel. It was more of a shanking pen than a knife pen, but it should accomplish the same goal.

All four voices murmured pride and agreement over the plans. Even his shadow had given him a thumbs up.

However, this was going to be complicated. For something like this with a deadline so soon, Link would usually hole himself up in the forge for a few days with only his shadow to flail wildly at him to practice self-care. Smith would also remind him, but he was more physical about it, leaving meals by the door of the forge or even bodily dragging Link upstairs to sleep.

There was one teensy, weensy problem with doing that this time, though. Smith had recently gotten the jewels he needed for jewelry work, and he was teaching Malachi, so they spent a lot of time in the forge. Too much time, really, if Link wanted to actually finish the pen in time.

Naturally, this meant he would go out of his way to jump to the next best thing, or, perhaps, an even better option. He packed his bags, said good-bye to Smith, told him his plans, and left for Mount Crenel. He lifted the Ocarina of Wind to his mouth, and a few seconds later, he landed atop the volatile mountain he had found the Fire Element in all those years ago. A part of him felt at home here, and even after so long, his feet carried him to safety, down to the forge where he had received the White Sword.

When he entered, comfortable heat washed over him and the rhythmic clinking of metal met his ears, bringing a smile to his face. From the sounds of it, at least half of Melari’s apprentices were currently working in tandem.

As he made his way down to the lower forge, Link wondered what music Malachi might find here. He always seemed to find a tune that fit the beat of the world around him, even if he insisted that he didn’t love music that much. Link found that he was a little jealous of it, in a way. He liked music and reveled in the symphonies that played during festivals and the melodies traveling bards carried with them, but he could never hear the music in the world around him, not like Malachi could with nothing but a frog's call or the shuffle of a breeze pushing through the grass of Hyrule Field.

“Link?”

The incredulous voice broke him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see the buff, bearded forge elder. The minish gave a bright grin and opened his arms in invitation.

“Melari!” Link greeted in return, voice warm and bright like the flames of this very mountain.

He threw himself into the hug and giggled as Melari picked him up in the hug. By the time he was set back on his feet, the apprentices who weren’t working with hot metal stopped what they were doing to watch.

“So, Link, what brings you here?” Melari asked.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Link said, swinging his bag from his shoulders. He crouched down to rifle through it. “I need some help to make a gift for a friend. His birthday is coming up soon, and I really don’t want to miss it.”

He found the plans for the pen and handed it over to Melari, who tilted his head as he looked it over. It was when a certain gleam came into his eye that Link knew he had won their assistance. That gleam was only found in artists who had their interest peaked, after all.

“Do you have the materials?” Melari asked. Link nodded, and Melari laughed, a deep laugh from his stomach. “Then we’ll help you.”

“Thank you so much,” Link said, pushing every ounce of earnestness into his voice. “Really, it means a lot to me.”

“Think nothing of it,” Melari said. “This is the project of a lifetime. I wouldn’t give it up for the world.” Then, he thought for a moment. “On one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Visit us more often. I’m sure my apprentices would like to learn the differences between Hylian and Minish smithing.”

Link laughed. “Ok. It’s a deal.”


	4. Not-Dates and Dances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So he reached out and caught Link’s pinky finger. Link didn’t stop moving, but he looked back at Malachi, saw his hesitant expression, and simply smiled, taking the rest of his hand in his own. As Link turned to look forward again, Malachi intertwined their fingers, and as the two boys walked, their hands clasped together, Malachi felt a flutter in his chest, and, not for the first time, he realized that he had fallen deeply, hopelessly in love with Link.

Malachi fidgeted and tapped the toe of his boot against the ground twice. He took a deep breath, gathered his nerves, and raised his hand to knock on the door of Link and Smith’s house.

His parents weren’t able to visit due to some problems at home, but they made sure to send him an allowance and a trio of books on appraising gems and precious metals. Aurelia and Phillip had thrown a small celebration for his birthday, inviting over other nearby nobles out of courtesy because, again, appearances were everything. Phillip had to leave once the party was over, though, since he was needed for negotiations at the borders. At some point, Oliver ducked in to grab a slice of cake and drop off his gift, and he managed to leave without getting roped into a dance. Malachi envied him for it, really. He didn’t really like dancing, especially not with people he didn’t even know.

Once he was released, he quickly changed into more casual clothes and made his way south of Castletown, down to the forge. Yesterday evening, Link had returned from his week-long expedition smelling of smoke and sulfur, but the skip in his step and the smile on his face chased away any worries Malachi might have had. Just as Malachi was leaving, Smith staying in the forge to finish the polish on a bracelet (and it was a little rough, but they could always melt it down and try again), Link had caught him by the arm.

“Meet me here tomorrow, at six,” Link said, hope shining in his eyes. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Aurelia waived Malachi’s curfew for his birthday, so he didn’t have to worry about being home by sunset.

The door swung open, snapping Malachi back to the present. He hadn’t even knocked yet, but any concern that might have welled up over that dissipated in the warmth of the hug Link greeted him with.

The hug ended quickly, Link pulling away with a bright grin. He was wearing his colorful tunic again, and a satchel hung from his shoulder. He had that mischievous spark in his eye that Malachi both feared and adored.

“Come on,” Link said, taking his hand and dragging him away. Malachi’s heart skipped a beat. “We don’t want to be late.”

As Malachi noticed the sword and shield on Link’s back, he frowned and asked, “Where are we going?”

“The Minish Woods.”

“What?” Malachi squawked. “Isn’t it dangerous there? Aren’t there monsters?”

“Nothing more than a few chuchus and octoroks,” Link waved off. “I can deal with those.”

“But _why_?”

“Because,” Link said, “I want to show you something very, very cool.”

Malachi fell into silence and let Link lead him through the woods as the sun painted the sky in shades of gold. Soft sunshine fell through the leaves overhead, lighting their path as soft grass gave way under their feet. The vibrant, summer greens of the forest seemed to welcome Link as a part of it, like he belonged here, and the sight sent a flutter through Malachi’s chest. Nature did so adore Link, and sometimes, Malachi wondered if his own adoration could ever exceed that of the breezes that welcomed him, the warmth that loved him, the water that swirled to meet him, and the earth that stayed steady under his feet.

But, looking down at his and Link’s clasped hands, he smiled, because he didn’t need to compete with nature. Malachi loved Link, and even if Link didn’t know of his feelings, it was enough.

Then, Link let go of Malachi’s hand and climbed up onto a stump with a crack in its center. He turned back to look Malachi in the eye, and… wow, he was actually a couple inches taller than Malachi on the stump.

“Ok, so,” Link said, “I’m gonna need you to not freak out.”

“Why does a primeval fear well up within me at your words?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Link huffed, rolling his eyes.

Malachi knew Link would deny pouting, but he _was_ pouting, and Malachi found it cute.

He stepped aside and gestured for Malachi to join him on the stump. Malachi frowned but stepped up onto the stump, but, of course, he had overestimated the size of the platform and bumped into Link, who stumbled backward. He tottered backward, and in a mix of various preservation instincts, Malachi grabbed Link’s arms, and in return, Link’s hands shot out and wrapped around his shoulders. The two steadied, forming a center of balance between them.

Then, Malachi’s face began to burn red as he realized how close they were, arms looped around each other. Link blinked in surprise before breaking out into giggles, and Malachi’s heartbeat sped up to a full gallop. Link had _no right_ to be this cute when they were in a position as compromising as this, entangled together on a stump in the depths of the Minish Woods.

“Ok, ok, but really,” Link hiccuped, his entire frame shaking with laughter. “Don’t freak out too badly.”

Then, as his giggles tapered out, he closed his eyes and began to sing. His voice was nothing like Aurelia’s--siren-like and melodious and something you would hear in a performance. Instead, Link’s voice was raw and untrained and only rose to hit the pitches. It wasn’t filtered through the voice changes singers were taught, instead coming out plain and innocent. It was simply… Link. The song wasn’t like anything Malachi had ever heard before, every syllable alien to his ears and escaping on the rustle of the leaves and grass.

He liked it. He really liked it.

Then, he felt the tingle of _magic_ wash over him. He didn’t have time to react as the magic swirled around them, from the flora of the forest and within the stump and up, up, up, wrapping around them like a blanket.

And then, Malachi was falling, and everything was bigger, and he had been separated from Link. His voice caught in his throat. Where was he? Where was Link? What was happening?

Malachi fell through the crack in the stump, now small enough to do so, and wasn’t that terrifying? Just a moment ago, the stump was barely big enough for two teenage boys, and now he was falling _into it_. What did Link even _do_? His questions shoved themselves to the back of his mind when he bounced off of something soft. The bounce sent him to the right, and he bounced two more times before he landed on the ground, the remaining whispers of magic softening his graceless landing.

Malachi thought it was important to note that he had, technically, landed on his feet. That did not mean he was prepared for it. He struggled to find his balance and instead overcorrected, leaning back far enough that he tripped and fell backwards.

“Ow,” he muttered.

A muffled giggle sounded throughout the interior of the stump. Malachi looked over to see Link on his feet, hands raised to his mouth as mirth danced in his eyes.

“Rough landing?” he asked, voice rising into a squeak in his attempts to keep from laughing.

Malachi levelled him with an unimpressed look, and the badly-contained laughter burst out of Link, leaving the smithy hunched over and gasping for air. Malachi huffed but smiled as he picked himself up, brushing the dirt from his clothes.

“Your hair--” Link wheezed between giggles, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “It’s like--it’s half up half down--I can’t--”

Malachi lifted his hands to his hair to feel what Link was talking about, and his face flushed. He could feel parts of his hair that had come loose during the fall, fluffing up unevenly. He let out a noise akin to the cry of a sad dog as he tried to smooth his fair back down.

Then, there were hands brushing his away and ruffling up his hair. Malachi blinked at Link, who still had that stupidly lovable grin on his face and was currently messing up Malachi’s hair.

“Wha--”

“I like it fluffed up,” Link said, the whisper of a giggle still present in his voice but quickly fading away. “You act freer when your hair is loose, too.”

His heart fluttered, so as always, he simply said, “... Ok.” Then, he stepped away, gathering his thoughts. “What in Hylia’s name was _that_?! Was that magic? Why do you know shrinking magic? What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Link said, taking his hand and dragging him toward a crack in the side of the stump. “Come on, I don’t want to be late.”

“Ok, but I _need_ the explanation,” Malachi said, his voice cracking just a little bit as he followed Link out of the stump and into grass that was far too tall.

“Yeah. Ok, so… when I was little, I had a bit of an adventure…”

As Link spoke, weaving together a story of magic and forests and picori, which were actually called minish. He was leaving something out, but Malachi didn’t want to pry. Link could keep his secrets, as long as they weren’t harmful.

“I can’t believe you actually befriended an entire colony of pi--of minish,” Malachi said, “on a _whim_.”

Link snickered and turned a corner onto a path, and at the far end, Malachi could see a little village of mushrooms, half a fallen vase, and some more mushrooms up on a small, wooden platform. Fireflies--as giant as they were now--sat on top of houses or under leafy overhangs, lighting the village like festival lights, and, fittingly, a peppy allegro skipped and hopped through the air on cheerful voices and plucked strings. Malachi could hear the chattering of some strange language in the distance, and vaguely, he recognized it as the language of the song Link had sung.

“Welcome to Minish Village!” Link piped. “The minish celebrate the Night of Fireflies on the eve before the summer solstice. It’s their way of celebrating the seasons. I want to show you around, but first, there’s something else we need to do.”

Link picked up the pace as he entered the village. A festival seemed to be in full swing. In a large, open space on the wooden platform, dozens of mouse-like creatures clad in petals of various flowers twirled around in cheerful dances. There looked to be no formal steps to the dance that Malachi could make out, but they seemed to be happy enough twirling each other about in circles and switching out between partners. Link sometimes greeted the minish in their own language, and honestly, it was a little off-putting to watch a conversation where he _knew_ they were talking about him while he couldn’t understand anything.

Link stopped by a house briefly. When he exited the house, Link didn’t take his hand again. Malachi couldn’t deny he was a bit disappointed. Instead, Link led him to a barrel house on the east side of town, and inside the barrel looked to be a garden. At the far end, an older minish looked up from where they were watering the plants.

They said something, and Link answered, approaching them and gesturing with his hands. The minish huffed but took a very large bean from one of the plants and handed it over. Link did a little bow, said something short, and jogged back over to Malachi.

“This is a Jabber Nut,” Link said proudly, holding out the bean. It was red and looked like it had very large lips on one side. “Eating it will let you understand the language of the Minish.”

“I have to eat this?” Malachi asked, tentatively taking it from Link. “This is bigger than my fist.”

“It’s… not as bad as it looks…?” Link offered. Nothing about his tone inspired confidence in Malachi, but he chose not to say anything and instead bit into the Jabber Nut.

He… didn’t really know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. It was hard and had no juice, and while the flavor of a peanut was there, it was mostly overpowered by the sweetness of a fruit. A pear, perhaps? As he chewed, it melted in his mouth. It didn’t fill up his stomach much at all, despite its size. The flavor and texture alone was enough to make this the weirdest thing he had ever eaten, but then, of course, that wasn't all. No, no, no. As Malachi took his last bite, he felt the faintest magic brush over his skin. Down his arms, down his spine it spread, up the back of his neck and over his scalp, neither warm nor cold. Then, it was gone.

“How do you feel?” Link asked after a moment.

“No different than before,” Malachi said slowly, trying to figure out if anything had changed.

“Good,” Link said. “Nothing should feel different. For now, anyway. The effects will kick in when you try to talk to a minish.” Then he started back toward the door. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet. Remember how I mentioned Ezlo, and--”

Malachi followed him out, letting Link ramble on about the old minish he had befriended, but his eyes drifted down Link’s arm, resting on the swing of his hand as he walked. Link meant warmth, Malachi thought as he wrung his hands together, and he liked warmth.

So he reached out and caught Link’s pinky finger. Link didn’t stop moving, but he looked back at Malachi, saw his hesitant expression, and simply smiled, taking the rest of his hand in his own. As Link turned to look forward again, Malachi intertwined their fingers, and as the two boys walked, their hands clasped together, Malachi felt a flutter in his chest, and, not for the first time, he realized that he had fallen deeply, hopelessly in love with Link.

And he really, really didn’t mind.

* * *

The Midsummer Gala was a highly anticipated event in Castletown. The common folk were invited into the castle, but after the first few rounds of food, they tended to flow back into the streets of the town and celebrate their own summer solstice traditions. This left the nobles in the castle, which is when things got formal and nobles did their socializing and networking thing that was just putting on masks and saying nice words that ultimately meant nothing.

On this fine evening, as the sun began to set, one Malachi Blackburn found himself pacing outside in the castle gardens. He could still hear the waltz in the grand hall, which had been turned into a ballroom, but it was still quieter here, and no one was trying to figure out every strength and weakness in him. He didn’t even like socializing. Being around people just drained him… unless it was Link, of course.

Malachi found a gazebo and sat down, back facing the castle, and heaved out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. It fluffed up in the wake of his fingers.

_“I like it fluffed up. You act freer when your hair is loose, too.”_

The thought brought a soft smile to his lips. A beat, then he ran both hands through his hair again, fluffing it back up from where he had smoothed it down. If Link could run into the castle covered in soot and setting oil without fear or shame and still be welcomed by the royal family, then Malachi could suffer to let people see his fluffy hair.

“Hello.”

Malachi looked up, startled. Who else was out here in the gardens during the gala? Everyone else should be inside. When his eyes landed on a figure in peach and light orange and gold, Malachi leapt to his feet.

“Princess!” he stammered. “I-I didn’t see you--”

“It’s fine,” she said with a soft smile, waving for him to sit back down.

Unsure of what else to do, he slowly lowered himself back onto the bench. She stayed standing.

Her dress was reminiscent of the sunset but softer, pastel skirts brushing the ground around her feet. Her hair was down, though two strands on either side of her face were pulled back and around her head. She looked entirely at peace with heavy eyelids and lax shoulders, but the thing is… Malachi was an introvert and a noble. Being a noble meant he needed to read body language, and being an introvert meant that he was observant. The princess might be giving every bit of relaxed body language she knew, but Malachi’s introverted intuition told him that she was hiding something, and his eyes picked up the rest. Her hands were clasped before her, her back was just a tad bit straighter than it needed to be, her ears and mouth were purposely still.

“Do you need something, princess?” he asked.

“I’m just… curious,” she answered, entering the gazebo and sitting on the bench across from Malachi. “You’re Malachi, correct? Malachi Blackburn.”

“Yes,” he nodded. Where was she going with this? Did he do something wrong?

“I heard you have been spending a lot of time with Link over these past couple of months,” she said.

Malachi averted his eyes to her left ear. A lump formed in his throat at the memory of Link’s laugh, accompanied by the sourceless guilt that welled up in his chest at the princess’s tone. Logically, he knew he had no reason to be guilty, but the cautious look in the princess’s eyes, the wary undertones of her voice, the rigidly formal posture she held--it made him feel like he had done something wrong.

“I have,” he said. “Did he tell you?”

“He tells me a lot,” she answered, neither warm nor cold. “I want you to be frank with me, Lord Blackburn. Are you trying to use Link in any way?”

“W-What?” Malachi gasped, genuine shock washing over him. “Use him? No! No, I would never! I just--I just really like spending time with him.”

“Why?” the princess asked. “If not to use him for his connections, why become friends with him?”

“Because… because he’s genuine. He's... real,” Malachi said, trying to put his feelings into words. “I like spending time with him because he doesn’t lie and sugarcoat his words like the nobles. He didn’t judge me for being a noble trying to learn smithing, and he…”

He remembered last night, the Night of Fireflies. A song sung by a young minish lured Link onto the dance floor, dragging Malachi along with him. It wasn’t the peppy allegro he had heard walking into the village, instead taking on a slower tempo that sent the dancers into a stomping rhythm, partners standing apart and partially bent at the waist in a step dance.

“I don’t know the steps,” Malachi had said.

“Don’t think about it,” Link had encouraged him, his eyes and hair gleaming in the light of the fireflies. “Just copy me.”

Malachi swallowed dryly as he tried to find the words he needed.

“He’s nice,” he finished lamely. No, he needed to correct that. “He accepts me.” Malachi resisted the urge to bounce his leg and instead looked for something else to address--right, _that_. “I think I understand why you might be concerned. Link is your friend and the hero’s, right? So… I’m sure plenty of people have tried to use him for power.”

There was a strange look in the princess’s eye.

“I promise, I’m not trying to do anything like that,” Malachi said, putting as much conviction into his words as possible, even with his nerves screaming at him. “Really. I… I value him. As a person.”

The princess narrowed her eyes at Malachi for a long moment, longer than Malachi was comfortable with. Then, she sighed, tension leaking from her entire body, and Malachi let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“All right,” she said. “I believe you.” A beat of silence, then, “He really does care about you, you know. He likes you a lot. I can tell by how much he gushes to me about you and how far you’ve come with smithing and being a more open person in general.”

Warmth crawled up onto Malachi’s face.

“He also really likes your hair when it’s fluffy.”

“O-Oh,” Malachi stuttered. “I… um… he told me last night.”

“Well,” the princess said with a small, relieved smile, straightening her skirts as she stood up. “I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail on what will happen should you hurt him.” The smile she gave was far too innocent for her words.

“You don’t,” Malachi squeaked.

“Good,” the princess said, satisfied. “I will take my leave. It was nice to finally meet you, but people are looking for me, and someone is looking for you.”

Malachi looked at her questioningly, but she had already turned her back and was striding through the gardens back to the castle. Even after she disappeared around the meticulously trimmed hedges and something tight uncoiled in his chest and let him relax, he watched the spot where she disappeared. He understood people looking for her (she was the princess, after all, and she was expected to be around for conversations should the nobles want to talk, and when did they not?), but who would be looking for him?

Malachi heard quiet mumbling. He turned around to see the source and froze, breath catching in his throat and his cheeks turning warm and red.

There, wandering aimlessly through the garden, was Link, who hadn’t noticed him yet. Malachi was so used to seeing him in simple, dirty clothes that he hadn’t ever expected _this_. Link’s headband was missing, his hair instead tied back in a ponytail, and _wasn’t that a look and a half?_ Instead of a shirt with sleeves large enough to hide his muscle, he wore a suit, simple but formfitting. His hands fiddled with the undone bowtie around his neck, which he was failing to actually tie.

Link looked… good. He looked sharp, and if he didn’t have appearances to keep up, Malachi would have swooned.

As it was, any and all words were stuck in his brain, unable to reach his mouth coherently. Link had walked all the way up to the gazebo stairs before he noticed Malachi sitting there and staring.

“Oh,” Link said, blinking in surprise. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Malachi answered. He hesitated, then stood up, offering his hand. “Would you--I mean--you look like you’re having trouble with the bowtie. I could…?”

“Huh? Oh! Yes, thanks,” Link said, hopping up the stairs so Malachi could actually reach him. “Formal clothes are so weird and uncomfortable. I don’t understand how you’re fine wearing waistcoats and stuff every day.”

Malachi carefully kept his eyes on the bowtie as he slipped into practiced, comfortable motions. It was over far too quickly, though, but neither boy stepped away, choosing instead to stay close.

“I forgot to give you this last night,” Link said, taking something from his pocket. Malachi accepted it and looked it over with wide eyes.

It was a thick, sturdy pen of dark metal, fine lines of silver curling across the surface. The writing end was… different. Instead of a sharp tip designed to pick up and hold ink, it was simply a small ball held in a small, metal tip. On the other end was a pointed piece of metal. Malachi tapped the top of the spike with one finger, and, yes, it was very sharp. Under the tiny spike was an extra piece of metal that resembled a hair clip

“See, you can carry a good weapon around with you and still look unarmed,” Link explained. “Just kinda… shank them, you know? And I figured, if you need to carry this around, you shouldn’t have to carry an ink well with you because that’d be awkward, so I put the ink inside the pen. Just drag the tip across a page, and it should leave a trail of ink behind and still not be as messy as a quill. There’s also a clip there so you can slide it onto papers and stuff.”

“This is…” Malachi trailed off, trying to find a word. This was cutting edge technology, and Link had come up with it for a _birthday present_. For _him._ “Really, really innovative. You made this?”

“I got some help, but yes,” Link nodded with a proud smile.

“Wow,” Malachi breathed. He smiled. “Thank you so much, Link. This is amazing. Truly.”

Link giggled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “It was really no big problem.”

Malachi called bullcrap on that. Link had gone on a whole week-long expedition, and Malachi had no doubt it was to forge this shanking pen. Link invented a whole new type of pen. This was a _huge_ deal.

It really was in character for him to not want to make a big deal out of it, though. Ever so humble.

Malachi put the pen in his pocket. Silence reigned for a few seconds before his nerves got the better of him and he spoke.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said. “You look nice.”

“Hehe, thanks… Zel threatened me into coming,” Link said, pitching his voice to sound tired. Malachi knew him well enough by now to hear the suppressed giggle underneath. “She said if she has to suffer through this, then so do I.”

Malachi held back a laugh, though a little snort escaped him. The princess was a headstrong girl, wasn’t she?

From the grand hall floated a tune, amplified enough to carry through the night air all the way to Malachi and Link to listen to as a quiet melody. A beat in three-four, fine for a waltz. A slower waltz, yes, but still a waltz, for what else would be danced to a three beat in a formal gala?

“Dance with me?” Link asked, offering a hand despite the small space between them. “I don’t actually know how to do dances--formal ones like this, I mean.”

“It’s just a waltz,” Malachi said with a soft smile, taking Link’s hand. “But we don’t have to waltz.”

“Then… slow dance,” Link concluded, and Malachi’s heart jumped in his chest.

“I can do that,” he lied.

Link reached up and put his other hand on Malachi’s shoulder, and Malachi set his hand on Link’s waist. They swayed along to the beat, the chorus beginning as they finally sorted themselves out and stopped talking.

_This is my song to remember me by_

_When the moon grow long in the sky_

_And you wonder why goodbyes are bound to be_

_Life goes on, love, you will see_

Malachi didn’t know which of them started it, but their hands turned, intertwining their fingers like they had during the Night of Fireflies. Link’s head bumped forward to rest against Malachi’s chest, and Malachi’s heart fluttered in response.

_Think of this tune_

_When forget-me-nots bloom_

_Pick one for me and make a wish_

_That I will be back soon_

The song held a longing that didn’t quite match with his and Link’s relationship, whatever it may be, but it was still sweet. Wrapped up with Link, swaying softly to the music, he realized he could spend the rest of his life like this (maybe without the dancing, but he wouldn’t mind it). He was… happy. He was really happy.

And if Link’s shadow flipped an unmirrored thumbs up, well, Malachi didn’t see it.


	5. The Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hydrate or diedrate, folks

Jumping back into forging was hard, to say the least. Muscles that had gone over a week without doing anything more strenuous than filing, polishing, or pouring metal into molds screamed at him. Malachi could use the momentum of the hammers, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be accurate in where he hit, or there was no point in hitting the metal at all, and he needed muscles to actually aim. It frustrated him, even with Link’s reassurances that it was fine and they could always fix it.

Horseshoes shouldn’t be this goddess-danged hard to make.

Regardless, Link sent him home every day at the usual time, saying farewell with a pat on the shoulder and a reassurance that he did well. Malachi buried himself in pages upon pages of smithing books when he was home, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong--because it had to be _something_ , he was sure of that much--and how to fix it.

Then, there was the fact that his ex-fiance’s parents were in town. Malachi had been engaged to one Alice Whitehall since they were little, arranged by their parents, but when she turned fifteen, she declared that she only liked girls and broke it off. Malachi’s parents had taken the news with disappointment, but they were graceful about it. Alice’s parents, on the other hand, tried to convince her to stay engaged and only left her alone when she pitched a fit over not wanting to marry someone who was both shorter than her and a boy. She and Malachi were still on good terms, but her parents were a whole different story, treating him with disdain as if Malachi himself was the reason Alice liked girls.

So, naturally, when he received a letter from Alice the day before Lord and Lady Whitehall arrived in Castletown, he decided to go home the long way around, the one that involved him passing through fields, past Lon Lon Ranch. He really should visit the ranch sometime. Malon was his second cousin, after all.

Oh, and maybe he should mention he was pretty sure he was sick. His throat was dry and itchy, and _goddesses_ he was tired, but he had work to do. He was hiding it fairly well from Link and Aurelia, since they hadn’t said anything about it.

In hindsight, it was obvious, but everything was obvious in hindsight. Still, it was a long time coming, ever since the first week of smithing. He should have seen this coming.

It happened four days back into smithing, wishing he could just hit the stupid metal right, and he was walking back home. He had finally finished a full set of horseshoes, though Link said he’d fix them up and file down any rough edges later.

“You really don’t have to push yourself so hard,” Link had told him, a concerned frown pinching his face. “I mean it.”

And as the setting sun painted the sky in the colors of fire, Malachi decided that, yes, maybe Link was right. His muscles _hurt_. He was tired, and with that realization came the sensation of a ton of rocks being lowered into his shoulders and back. He was exhausted, stressed, far too sore, and, really, he just wanted to _rest_.

His movements grew sluggish, and as the exhaustion continued to spread through his bones, he got the sinking feeling he wouldn’t get home soon enough… Oh. Oh dear.

Then, he was a puppet who had its strings cut, and everything went dark.

This wasn’t good.

* * *

The first thing was pain, but it was nestled away and not yet woken up, like the kind of pain and soreness that makes its home in every thread of your being the morning after a physically strenuous day. The second thing was warmth, but not the comfortable kind. It was stuffy and far too warm, leaving only the sensation of drowning and suffocating in cotton. The third thing was light, pale gold painted red through closed eyelids.

Then, Malachi woke up. A soft groan rumbled through his chest, and his face contorted into a wince as he propped himself up into a sitting position, his arms and torso screaming in protest. He squinted through the blurriness of the room. On the bedside table was a glass of water, his glasses, and a note… and a minish, if the little blob of colors on his night stand really was one.

Malachi and the minish stared at each other for a good five seconds.

“Hello,” he said, wincing at the way his voice croaked.

“Hello,” the minish responded. A beat, then, “Your family and Link have been super worried, you know. You should have rested.”

“Link is here?” he asked.

“Oh, he sure is,” the minish trilled. “He just got yelled at by your sister, you know. She thought he was the reason you’re like this, and while I don’t know how much is true, I’m more inclined to believe that Link wouldn’t let this happen if he knew, mm-mm. Anywho, I think they came to an agreement, but oh, buddy, are you in for some biiiiiig trouble.”

Malachi grimaced. He collapsed in the road, most likely from fatigue. It was something he could have easily avoided, but now he’d have to deal with two siblings who would mother hen him in two vastly different ways and a very upset Link, however he’d take it… and that was the thing, wasn’t it? He had no idea if Link would be disappointed or cold-angry or fiery-angry or somewhere in-between, and that was terrifying. At least if he could predict what Link might do, he could brace himself for it.

But, oh, he wouldn’t give up Link’s unpredictability for the world.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. This wasn’t the time for hopeless pining. This was time for bracing himself for getting yelled at for not resting like he was told to. The minish scurried off, disappearing down behind the nightstand, and as Malachi put his glasses on, he wondered if the minish was going to tell Link he was awake. Probably. Link was friends with them, after all.

Malachi took the time to sip from the glass of water and read the note.

_You have a lot to answer for._

_Love, Aurelia_

Oh, lovely. 

Malachi hadn’t yet tried to retreat back under his blankets when he heard the steady beat of footfalls of well-worn boots against the floor. The pace slowed as they approached the door, and when the door creaked open, a head of gold and eyes of hazel peeking into the room, Malachi couldn’t help the surprise that sparked in his chest. Link really was here, for him.

Oh, how embarrassing.

Link saw him and stepped inside, eyes flashing through their colors. Malachi wanted to question it so badly because there was no way that was a trick of the light every time, but now hardly seemed to be the time.

“How do you feel?” Link asked, voice carefully blank as each word fell from his mouth like syrup.

“Tired,” Malachi answered honestly.

Link’s shoulders tensed. After a moment, in the same, slow tone as before, he said, “I _want_ to yell at you for your carelessness, I _want_ to cry in frustration because I didn’t notice anything even when I _should have_ , I _want_ to wrap you up and make sure that never happens again, I _want_ to…” He tensed further, then released a slow breath. “I want to do a lot of things, even if they conflict, but I know that they won’t help. I know there’s nothing I can do to keep you from doing anything, because that would be controlling you, and I can’t do that to you. I just… I want--I _need_ you to know that I care about you being healthy and happy, and I… I’m really, really worried right now, and it’s hard to get the words to convey what I mean, but _please_ look out for yourself.”

And when could Malachi ever say no to Link, especially when those pleading, colorful eyes repeated the same request he had said with his words?

But he was too ashamed of his foolishness, so instead, he looked down at his lap, where his hands wrung together and fiddled with his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, unable to come up with words good enough, words that were worthy of Link. He wanted to, but he couldn’t, so instead, he repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Then, there was a long moment of silence, held between them like a single, taut line of spider silk. Link clasped his hands together in front of himself, then let go, and after a beat, he walked over to the edge of Malachi’s bed and lowered himself onto the mattress. He turned his head to look Malachi in the eye.

“I’m not angry at you,” Link said, voice soft but still enough to snap the spider silk. “Or disappointed. I just… It’s hard to put it into words.”

It was. Link was right, and Malachi knew because he felt just a little bit of it, too. It wasn’t concern or worry, but it was something close, and it hurt.

“I wish I could tell you how sorry I am,” Malachi said, setting the glass down on the nightstand so he could reach out and brush their fingers together. It wasn’t a request to hold hands but an invitation, quiet and subtle and letting Link decline gracefully should he want to. "I really do regret it. I should have looked after myself better."

Link didn’t move his hand.

“Never do this again,” Link said, soft and pleading but still strong with steel. “Promise me you’ll never run yourself into the ground like this again.”

Malachi looked at Link. He needed to make sure he meant it, and he needed to make sure Link _knew_ he meant it.

“Ok,” he said. “I promise.”

Link looked at him for a long moment before the tension leaked out of his frame. His hand moved to intertwine their fingers, and a small smile rested on his lips.

“Good,” he said. A beat, then, “Your sister’s gonna kill you.”

Malachi fell back onto the pillow with a groan, Link giggling at his antics. Link was right. Aurelia was going to murder him.

* * *

Over the next week, his sister essentially put Malachi under house arrest. It’s not like he really left his room much anyway. It was too tiring to walk across the mansion sometimes. It was such a struggle to do anything, even without his promise to Link, he’d probably be more careful with his own wellbeing. It made him feel helpless, and what a horrible feeling that was to have.

There was reprieve in this exhausting existence in the form of Link, who had talked his way into Aurelia’s good graces. Maybe being the childhood friend of the princess really did teach him something about persuasiveness. Anyhow, all that mattered was that Link dropped by every day to visit.

At some point, Link had found the red kinstone Malachi had gotten from Pita and Wheaton’s. He tied it up with twine and made a necklace out of it. He strung it around Malachi’s neck and said it was a reminder of his promise to take care of himself. Malachi thought it was a little silly, but it was cute, so he agreed.

Then, one day, as they sat on Malachi’s bedroom floor, Link asked, “Can you teach me music?”

Malachi blinked at him.

“Music?” he asked. “Why?”

“Well, um,” Link said, averting his eyes in the first show of shyness Malachi had seen from him. “You’re good at music, right? I’ve always liked it, but I never had time to learn, and I thought--I think it’d be nice to learn from you, for a change.”

“I only know the violin,” Malachi said, “but I can try.”

“I have a good ear,” Link answered, his shy smile turning cheeky.

He reached into the pouch at his waist and produced a blue ocarina. The blue shimmered across the surface, almost as if the patterns of blue were ever so slowly swirling like currents of wind. The instrument was far too… _mystical_ for someone like Link to have, but Malachi decided not to question it. Link’s fingers tapped against the holes.

“I haven’t played in a while,” he admitted. “Not since I was little, and even then, it was just one song I knew.”

“I… if you can copy notes, I guess I could teach you a few songs,” Malachi said, and the smile that lit up Link’s face set his heart aflutter. “R-Right, so--”

He picked himself up off the ground, ignoring how he ached. It didn’t hurt as much as before, and hey, the violin didn’t need him to use that many muscles. The worst part of it was bending his left arm to position his elbow correctly, and even then, he had gotten used to that years ago.

Link’s eyes followed his movements as he took his violin case and began unpacking. Violin, shoulder rest, bow, tightening the hairs, rosining the bow, tune by pegs, tune by fine tuners, check to make sure no dust or rosin had settled into the wood… good. He ran through songs in his mind, even as that specific song of love and longing played in his head and heart. The song that soared through his ears every time he saw Link was… no, that would be too difficult for now. Maybe… oh, there was an idea.

“Do you know the Ballad of the Goddess?” he asked. He set his violin under his arm in rest position, then reached his thumb up toward the strings at the base of the neck as his other hand came over to hold the instrument more like a lute. He had never learned the song, but it was a simple tune, and, like Link, he had a good ear. He plucked a few measures, enough that Link could recognize the tune even if he didn’t know the title.

“I’ve heard it a few times,” Link said, two fingers tapping against the surface of his ocarina. “What note does it start on?”

“D,” he answered. “I’ll play along with you.”

Link seemed to have some muscle memory behind his notes, but he still stumbled through it quite a bit. When he did, Malachi would wait, holding out the note until Link could find it. When they reached the last note, Link let out a breath, shoulders sagging in relief.

“That was good for a first time,” Malachi said with a small smile. He let Link be proud for a brief moment, then added, “Again.”

“But we just--”

“Yes, but you won’t learn until you can get it actually sounding like the song,” Malachi said. “So, we need to play it again.”

“Do you have to do this with every song?” Link asked with a little pout. Cute.

“Yes,” Malachi answered, mirth bubbling up in his chest and spreading warmth through his body. “With harder pieces, it can take weeks or even months before I can get them to sound like the actual tune.”

Link groaned, eliciting a giggle from Malachi.

“Ok, come on,” he said. “Again. This is an easy song.”

So they began again, and like he said, this time, it was more recognizable. Malachi ran them through the entire song two more times before he was satisfied.

“It sounds good!” Malachi said, and with the look Link gave him, Malachi couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m serious, that was good. You’re not comfortable with it quite yet, but when you are, you can add your own little flourishes to it.”

“Flourishes?” Link questioned.

“Yes,” Malachi nodded. “It makes the song yours, in a way.”

“Show me?”

“Of course.”

For the first time during this whole lesson, Malachi completely straightened his posture. He didn’t need to previously, but now, he needed the sound quality and freedom of movement. His mind ran over possible variations as he set the bow on the string. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and he could feel Link’s eyes on him.

Then, he inhaled through his nose and began to play. It started out simple, only adding in vibrato where he could. As he played, grace notes popped up and danced through the melody, and a few extra notes began to join in. In his mind, he could hear the ghost of an accompaniment, and he played off of that, his confidence building and flowing freely through him. As the chorus approached the second time, an improvisational part pieced itself together in his head. It would be a little hard to pull off, but maybe a simpler version… _yes_. His fingers tapped against the strings, his hand shifting up the neck, and as every note made its mark, pride and exhilaration bloomed in his chest. At some point, he had closed his eyes, but he didn’t want to open them for fear of interrupting himself. He fell away and let his ears and fingers do the work, even as his mind raced ahead to figure out the notes.

He didn’t realize he had finished the song until clapping startled him out of his trance. His eyes flew open, snapping over to Link. He was downright _starry-eyed_ at Malachi’s little impromptu performance, and the sheer awe in his expression dusted Malachi’s cheeks pink.

“That was amazing!” Link exclaimed with the excitement of an eager child. “How did you do that?”

“I just… came up with it,” Malachi shrugged sheepishly.

“Wait, wait--you haven’t done that before?” Link questioned, eyes wide with shock. Malachi pursed his lips, and Link gave a quiet gasp. “Whoa. You’re really good. I mean, _really_ good.”

“I’ve just been playing a long time,” Malachi said, his face only growing warmer with every word. “I mean, that was a bit much, even for me, but--”

“Don’t put yourself down,” Link interrupted, still awed but tone firm. “That was objectively really, really amazing. That was impressive, and there’s no way you can convince me it wasn’t.”

Malachi couldn’t stop the peal of laughter that bubbled its way up from his chest. Link could be so terribly stubborn at times, but really, it wasn’t so bad. It was fueled by love, anyway. Love for his home, his friends and family, for the people of Hyrule. He had so much love to give, but no one should have to give love on their own. Sometimes, you needed to take it, so Malachi gave his own love freely to Link. Link, his friend and the boy he was in love with.

So, maybe, he could share a little more of his love.

“Do you want to hear my favorite song?” he asked.

“Of course!” Link answered, already excited. “What’s it called?”

“Salut D’Amour,” was the answer, and then he began.

The notes came to him easily, the dipping and rising notes and musical breaths and all. The melody flowed out, the piano accompaniment playing in the back of his mind, and as his eyes fell shut once more, he summoned all the love and adoration in his heart and more and put as much as he could into every delicate note that sang out. Every time he saw Link, this song sang in his heart, and he would be damned if he failed to put every ounce of those emotions into this song. Even if he lacked the courage to tell Link his feelings, whether it be genuine cowardice or simply a fear of ruining their friendship, he could sing it to him through this music, because this was a song of love and longing, and it was a song of greetings, a welcome of open arms ready to provide warmth to those who accepted it.

And every ounce of love he poured into every note of this song spoke to the meaning of its name--Salut D’Amour, Greetings of Love.

Love and warmth filled the room, worming its way into every nook and cranny, and maybe, just maybe, four voices fell silent as their chest felt tight, accepting the love freely offered to them, to him. Both boys and the minds between them were content in this moment, wishing it would never end but knowing it will and, so, committing this to memory.

And they loved.


	6. wait for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll see you again,” Malachi said. “Right?”
> 
> “We’ll see each other again,” Link corrected with a nod. He hesitated, scuffing the floor with the toe of his boot. “I guess… I’ll be off.”
> 
> “Goodbye, then.”
> 
> “See you later.”

As Malachi recovered, he began to visit Link and Smith’s forge more often, and by the end of the summer, he was back to work. He agreed to teach Link Salut D’Amour, and while it was slow-going, Link had the basic tune down. It was really just the last few phrases and their odd arpeggios and partial scales he had trouble with. However, as summer turned to fall and the leaves turned to colors of fire and fell from their branches, Link had been gone from the forge more and more, leaving Malachi to work on jewelry with Smith.

Link could tell that Malachi was carefully easing himself back into smithing, and even with the slow progress, he was turning out to be a promising jewelry maker. Link was proud. His friend had come a long way.

However, there were other matters that pressed down on Link’s shoulders heavily enough for the voices to bicker and argue. It was annoying, but he couldn’t blame these parts of himself. Darkness was encroaching on Hyrule, and both he and Zelda could feel it. Something big was going to happen, and for once, it didn’t include Vaati.

Probably.

He really didn’t want to have to deal with Vaati yet again, resurrected from the dead.

He did feel bad for leaving the forge and not being able to help Smith and Malachi, but he knew that fighting off the growing numbers of monsters was more important. Octoroks, chuchus, acrobandits--even though these monsters were all small fry in the long run, increased numbers never meant anything good for Hyrule. He spent most of his days clearing out areas newly infested with monsters.

And maybe it was his guilt for leaving Smith and Malachi behind that made him careless, or maybe it was the monsters getting stronger (and wasn’t that a terrifying thought), but regardless, he was getting hurt. He could fix up most things by himself, or, at worst, drinking a potion or stopping by a fairy fountain, but he was still getting hurt enough to cause concern.

Thankfully, no one had caught him hurt yet.

Then, one night, he had a dream, and when he woke up, all he could remember was a golden light, and in the shadows laid a portal of swirling darkness. That was all he needed. He shoved aside his conflicting feelings since Red could deal with that whole mess later, packed his bags, and headed for the Four Sword Sanctuary to retrieve his legacy.

The sanctuary was just as he remembered it. The mural on the far wall was slowly being covered in moss, but it was still fairly clean. The eye of Vaati looked up at the four identical swords embedded in the top, a pair of chains crossing over his circular, monstrous body. Four pillars lined the path to the mural and the pedestal before it, each topped with a carving of one of the elements--fire and water on the right, wind and earth on the left--and in the pedestal upon the dais sat the Four Sword. Its golden hilt gleamed in the light of the morning sun, and as he approached it, the gem in its pommel gleamed green, blue, violet, red.

Link stood before the sword and laid a hand on it.

“It’s been a while,” he whispered to himself, the voices in his head chorusing along in agreement.

Then, he widened his stance, wrapped his hands around the hilt, and drew the blade out of the pedestal. Familiar magic of raging flames, of crashing waves, of towering mountains, of howling winds washed over him, and this time, as he raised the blade up toward the sky, _he_ took control of the magic, and he stayed whole.

He stayed still for a moment, allowing his pieces to settle comfortably in him and around each other.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Link turned, not as surprised as he should be to see Zelda in the doorway. He sheathed the Four Sword and approached her.

“I am,” he answered. “There’s darkness. I had a dream last night. There was a golden light and a dark portal, and…” His eyes flickered downward toward his shadow, which twitched to let him know it was listening. He gave Zelda a sheepish but unashamed smile. “You know me, I can’t leave it be.”

Zelda sighed, eyes fluttering shut.

“You weren’t going to tell me you were leaving, were you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Then I’m lucky I caught you,” she answered with a small smile. Her restraint snapped, and she pulled him into a tight hug. “Stay safe,” she murmured into his shoulder.

Link reached up to wrap his arms around her in response.

“No promises,” he joked, “but I’ll do my best.”

Zelda pulled back but kept her hands on his shoulders. Ever-shifting hazel eyes met her amber gaze, and something in his heart tugged at the concerned dip in her brow.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he said.

“You’d better,” Zelda said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I know you were planning on leaving without telling me, but you should really say goodbye to Smith and Malachi.”

Link’s eyes drifted sideways in faux guilt, and Zelda rolled her eyes. She used her grip on his shoulders to switch their positions, turn him toward the door, and give him a light shove.

“Go,” she said when he looked back. “Tell them. We’ll be waiting for you when you come home.”

He nodded, then turned back around and made his way home, where he knew Malachi would already be heating up the forge for more work with Smith. The circlet they had been working on was looking very nice.

Link entered the house just as Smith exited the living room, a cup of tea in his hands. He took one look at Link, bags on his back, pouches on his belt, and Four Sword on his back, and he gave a quiet sigh, setting the cup down on the nearest table. Link fidgeted with the straps of his bag until Smith turned to him with open arms. He took the invitation, throwing himself into the hug.

“How long will you be gone, Link?” Smith asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Then just make sure you come home,” Smith said, having accepted his grandson’s fate as a hero long ago. “Malachi’s in the forge.”

Link nodded, and as Smith let go, he pulled away from the hug to make his way to the door. He pushed it open slowly, the hinges whispering a low creak to announce his entrance, and before the raging flames stood Malachi, his fluffy, red curls set aglow by the light of the furnace. At the sound of the door, Malachi turned around, and when he saw Link, that familiar, small, gentle smile lit up his face.

“Hello, Link,” he greeted. In his eyes was a look softer than cotton, than minish feathers, than the clouds up above.

“Hi, Malachi,” Link answered, and as he spoke, Malachi’s eyes flickered over him, and his smile fell.

“You’ve packed your bags,” he said simply.

“Yeah,” Link answered, taking a few steps into the forge.

His eyes roamed Malachi’s face, committing every detail to memory. Who knew when they’d see each other again? Despite the fact they had only known each other since the beginning of spring, over half a year ago, Malachi had earned a place in Link’s heart, quickly digging out a spot for himself in Link’s life.

“I’m going on a trip,” Link said. “I don’t know how long it’ll be or where I’m going, but there are… there are important matters that I need to take care of.”

Malachi was quiet, eyes flickering over Link’s face for a long moment. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large loop of twine with a little, red kinstone tied to it. He held it out to Link, posture loose--an offer.

“I found the other half this morning,” he explained, his other hand coming up to pull at the twine around his own neck. “If you’re leaving, then… take this. I’ll be nervous if I don’t know how you are, but… but if you have this, then I know you’ll take care of yourself, like how you told me to take care of myself.”

Link’s heart leapt. He was touched. This was one of the many things he liked about Malachi. He cared so much and always offered love, always with the implied option to decline it, and he never expected anything in return.

So, as warmth pooled in his gut, he took the offered necklace and looped it around his own neck. He looked down at the kinstone that rested against his chest, then picked it up and tucked it under his tunic. He smiled up at Malachi.

“Now we match,” he said. “We’ll take care of ourselves.”

“We will,” Malachi nodded, smiling softly. He hesitated, hands fidgeting with nothing, and Link fought the urge to giggle. Always so hesitant.

Link moved first, pulling Malachi into a hug. He squeaked, much to Link’s delight. It was another beat before he hugged Link back, hunching over a little to properly wrap him up in his arms. It was warm here; it was safe, but it had to end, so Link squeezed Malachi tight one last time before letting go and stepping away. Their hands ran down each other’s arms as they parted, fingers briefly intertwining before their hands fell away.

“I’ll see you again,” Malachi said. “Right?”

“We’ll see each other again,” Link corrected with a nod. He hesitated, scuffing the floor with the toe of his boot. “I guess… I’ll be off.”

“Goodbye, then.”

“See you later.”

Then, he turned around and left the forge, never looking back because if he did, he knew he’d want to go home and stay there. He wandered Hyrule for a few days, the chill of the approaching winter biting at his face and fingers, before he found the portal in the Castor Wilds--a portal of swirling darkness, identical to the one in his dream.

He took a deep breath, looked to his shadow for comfort, then exhaled, saying farewell to the world he knew and loved.

Then, into the portal he went.

* * *

Malachi let the familiar, steady tempo of hammer against metal lull him into his own rhythm. The song from the Midsummer Gala all those months ago waltzed in his ears as he filed down rough edges of the bracelet in his hands. Spring was here, and it was quickly warming up. The robins were back, daffodils had bloomed a month ago, and this morning, driven by the waltz in his head, Malachi had picked a little bundle of forget-me-nots and tucked them behind his ear, thinking of memories of the warmth Link always brought with him wherever he went, and with these memories came the dull, repeating thought that hammered itself deeper into his mind with every passing day.

It was mid-spring, and Link still wasn’t home.

Malachi continued helping Smith at the forge, and the old man was grateful for the help, letting Malachi take on his own projects and occasionally inviting him to stay for dinner. The princess had also reached out to him, and now they regularly had tea together once a week to talk about whatever they felt like. Usually, it was Link. They began to talk about other topics more often as the days grew colder and snow began to fall, but then, shortly after the solstice, Zelda got a letter from Link. Malachi watched her read it with narrowed eyes, and, quite frankly, he was concerned by the number of face twitches she had while reading, but then she set the letter down and smiled.

“He says to tell you hello,” Zelda said with a pleased smile. “He’s safe and healthy. He’s far away where we can’t reach, and he says he was surprised the mail service worked so well between wherever he is and Hyrule, but…”

“But he’s safe,” Malachi finished, daring to wear a small smile. “That’s good.”

“Do you want to write a reply letter with me?”

“Of course.”

Letter correspondence was slow, but at least they could keep in touch. Zelda had teasingly accused him of waiting for his husband to return from the war one evening when he was staring blankly out the window during tea, and he was too flustered to even come up with a reply. As it turned out, Zelda was fairly certain that everyone except Link knew Malachi was crushing hard. She refused to tell him if she thought Link liked him back.

“Even if he does,” she eventually said, “he’s too dense to actually realize it.”

“Link is smart,” Malachi argued.

“Yes, but he’s also stupid.”

And, well, he couldn’t really argue with that. Link could be a little dull at times.

But, yes, perhaps Malachi _was_ longingly waiting for Link to return. In his defense, Link hadn't told him much. All he knew was that Link had found friends and that they travelled a lot and got into fights with monsters sometimes. Among his friends were a wild man who was the only one in the group who could cook, a proud captain who fought in a war, a young pirate with a little sister and grandmother at home, a rancher with incredible strength, a veteran adventurer with a mysterious past, a wanderer who thought too little of himself despite his skills, a sleepy knight who had a sweetheart at home, and an old man with one eye and a wife who owned a ranch. They were all reckless, and, much to Malachi’s dismay, they were usually more chaotic and reckless than Link himself. Link as the calm, reasonable one in a group was a terrifying thought, and Malachi wondered if he was just pretending to be the calm one for his friends' sakes.

“The sun’s getting low,” Smith said, breaking Malachi from his thoughts of the past couple seasons. “You should be getting home.”

“Ok,” Malachi said, setting the bracelet on the stand where they put all their works-in-progress. He hung up the protective apron and returned the borrowed gloves.

As he reached the door, Smith spoke again.

“Thank you again for all your help,” he said, a warm smile crinkling his eyes.

“Of course,” Malachi replied. He opened the door. “Goodbye, Smith! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Smith answered in kind, probably, but Malachi didn’t hear because at the bottom of the hill was a tunic of four colors, hair of silken gold, and beautiful hazel eyes that swirled with color. Link skidded to a stop, chest heaving and cheeks flushed. He must have run here. A little behind him, eight very armed men were jogging to catch up, but Malachi couldn’t be bothered with them because _Link was here_.

The waltz left entirely, and Salut D’Amour sang from his heart, every note dripping with joy and elation and echoing loud and clear through his mind.

Past the tightness of his throat and his jumping heart, he breathed, “Link!”

A smile brighter than the sun split Link’s face, and, oh, how he was so hopelessly smitten.

“Malachi!”

Malachi made his way down the hill, quickly falling into a run. Link met him halfway, the two boys crashing into each other, and for once, Malachi didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms tight around Link. He had waited this long. He was allowed this much. Link hugged him back with just as much enthusiasm, laughter freely falling from his lips as he dug his fingers into the back of Malachi’s shirt.

He was warm and safe, and Malachi couldn’t be happier.

Link was finally _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for supporting me through this! Keep your eyes open for more, since this is only part 1 of 3!
> 
> hhhhhh i love these dorks so much


End file.
